Consequences
by Max Alleyne
Summary: Valerie threw her head back and laughed. Deep, throaty laughter that was only reserved for something that was truly funny. She laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. Eric/OC
1. Blood Spilled

**Author's Note: **So, this is my first attempt at a True Blood fanfic, so I'm a little nervous. I hope you enjoy it.

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Valerie Malone had one rule about drinking: drink when you want to, not when you need to. Those times when you wanted to get staggering drunk and forget the very thing that made you want to start drinking in the first place were usually the times when you needed to be sober. She knew that she had made this rule for a reason, and it had served her very well over the years…but sometimes there were days like today that made you want to break every rule you ever made.

She sat in her car, staring down at her shaking hands. It wasn't a good idea to drive while in extreme emotional stress. She knew this, but just like her rule about drinking, she threw that one out the window, too. Without a second thought, she turned the key in the ignition and drove. Valerie didn't actually pay any attention to where she was going. She was mostly just making sure that she didn't hit the pedestrians who didn't realize that stop signs were really just suggestions.

It was hard to keep the grin off her face, simply because sometimes situations are so ridiculous, you have to laugh at them. It's like one of those bad comedy movies where anything that can go wrong has, and any minute a fairy godmother is going to pop out, sing "Bippity Boppitty Boo" and grant her seven wishes. Then, in her current situation, she was just as likely to run over the fairy godmother with her car before she could get even a few bars of that dread song out of her mouth.

The stop light ahead turned red, and she decided to actually obey this traffic law, mostly because she didn't want to run the risk of being t-boned. With her current luck, she would be seriously injured, and while she was suffering from temporary borderline insanity, she had no particular desire to die. Not when life had suddenly become so much more entertaining.

"Drink. I need a drink," she whispered to herself. Her words seemed to make her compulsion ten times stronger, as if saying the words aloud had actualized them. She saw a sign with bold red letters set against a black backdrop. She didn't actually bother to read the entire sign, but caught the word "bar" and pulled into the parking lot, tires screeching. There was a group of people standing outside the bar, all of which turned to stare at her as she got out of her car.

She knew she was a strange sight. After all, how many people walked into a bar wearing a lab coat and a pencil skirt? Probably not the best decision she had ever made, but in the context of the day, it sure as hell wasn't the worst. Any career she had that actually involved using her Ph.D. was long done, so it didn't really matter. Her auburn hair was pulled out of her face in a sloppy ponytail—a far cry from the very tidy twist she had put it in when she woke up this morning.

The tall blond with over dramatic makeup at the front door eyed her with what she could only describe as detached amusement. The expression on her face was enough to make Valerie laugh humorlessly once again.

"I need to see some ID," she said, her voice deadpan.

"I'm old enough to have a Ph.D…Do you really need ID?" Valerie answered. Normally, it wouldn't be an issue, but she was agitated, and really? If the lab coat didn't scream doctor, the ID badge that was clipped to the front of her shirt clearly did. The woman didn't answer, but instead just raised on eyebrow. Valerie sighed in frustration and pulled her driver's license from her wallet and shoved it into the woman's hand.

"Twenty-eight, huh? Go on in."

"Thank you," Valerie answered with mock pleasantness. She strode past the woman, but didn't miss her amused laugh as she did so.

The inside of the bar wasn't what she was used to. Loud, angry music poured from the speakers, and the blood red walls didn't exactly do much to put the customer at ease, though it definitely didn't seem to be affecting business. There wasn't a table that wasn't occupied, and the dance floor was packed. The bar was towards the back of the room, and she headed straight there. The stools were hardly comfortable, but it didn't really matter. She took the only remaining one, at the end of the bar.

She had been sitting at the bar for all of half a second, when the bartender appeared in front of her. "What can I get you to drink?" he asked.

"What do you have in the vein of bourbon?" She didn't miss the smile that spread across his face when the word "vein" crossed her lips.

"Jim Bean, Jack Daniels, Early Times, Booker's—"

"Bookers, on the rocks."

While waiting for her drink, she took the opportunity to study the other people sitting at the bar. It was funny, because they could be divided into two groups: leather-clad patrons—who all looked very comfortable—and everyone else—who looked slightly on edge. She heard a faint clinking noise, and looked down to find her drink sitting on the bar in front of her. She downed it in a few gulps and gestured to the bartender for another. It was in front of her a few seconds later. The man beside her eyed her nervously and vacated.

_I should nurse this one, _she thought. _Bookers is too good not to savor. _ She breathed in the almost smoky aroma of the bourbon and sighed. Life was a mess, but she had this drink, and she was still breathing, which was a good thing. Well, a less shitty, thing, anyway.

"Excuse me," came a voice from behind her. She turned to see a tall, pale man with his arm around a young woman who looked slightly ill. "We'd like your seat," he said bluntly.

"And I want a yellow Ferrari. But you can't always get what you want," she snapped, annoyed. Didn't people have the courtesy to not interrupt someone in the middle of their drink? This was the South, after all. Whatever had happened to Southern hospitality?

"You'd best let us have it," he said, more insistently.

"What's the magic word?" she asked, her voice sickly sweet. People around them were starting to stare.

"Get the _fuck _out of that chair."

"Not quite. I was thinking more along the lines of "please." She smiled into her bourbon, wondering just how much trouble she was about to get herself into. But then, isn't that what usually happens in bars when you've had the worst day of your life?

Before she took take another sip of her drink, the man had hauled her off the chair and had her laid flat on her back on top of the bar, his hand cold wrapped in a bruising grip around her throat. She took her glass and smashed it against the side of his face, drawing blood. He let go of her and brought his hand to the bloody gash, a shocked expression on his face. She quickly rolled off the bar, looking for anything and everything she could use to defend herself.

"Can I borrow this?" she asked one of the other men at the bar, gesturing to the half full bottle in front of him. When he didn't answer, she grabbed it anyway, broke it against the side of the bar, and sliced her skirt down the side for easier mobility. Everyone in the bar had stopped and was staring at them.

"This isn't a fight you want to get into, bitch," her attacker growled.

"If I recall, you're the one that started it." He came at her again, faster this time, giving her no time to react. Instead, she found his arms around her, crushing the life out of her. There was a sharp pain in her neck as he bit her, and the startling reality of her situation hit her.

Vampire. He was a vampire, and he was going to drain her dry. With the last remaining bit of her strength, she jammed the broken bottle into his neck. He dropped her and blood went everywhere. His blood mingled with hers in a puddle on the floor. It was staining her formerly pristine lab coat. She looked around her and noticed that a large portion of the people staring at her had their fangs out. Vampires. She read one of the shirts, which said "Fangtasia."

Of course. She was in a vampire bar. A fucking _vampire bar. _

She threw her head back and laughed. It was real laughter. Deep, throaty laughter that was only reserved for something that was truly funny. She laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. Her career was gone, and of all the bars she could have stopped in, she managed to stop at a vampire bar. And of all the things that she managed to do, she got into a fight. With a vampire. And survived.

Oh, yeah. Life was fucking hilarious.

"What is going on here?" A cold, amused voice interrupted her reflections. A tall, blond vampire was standing over her. Even if he hadn't had his fangs out, she would have known he was a vampire. There was a stillness to him that she had never seen in any human being. It was a stillness that came with complete and utter confidence in oneself. She had some idea that he was important—everyone seemed to be deferring to him—but she didn't care.

"A mess. A big, fucking mess," she answered, still laughing. She brought her hand to her throat, trying to stop the bleeding. Her fingers were slick with blood, which somehow only made things funnier.

He pulled her off the floor by her lapels and dragged her through a doorway into what appeared to be an office. He set her in a chair, and she slumped, too exhausted from the blood loss to stay upright. She heard the sounds of the bar returning to normal, like she hadn't almost just bled out on the floor.

"You made a big mess in my bar, and you shed vampire blood. What are we going to do about this?" he asked her from where he sat on the other side of a desk.

"Get some bleach and clean it up?"

"Aren't you funny…What's your name?"

"None of your damn business," she spat. "What's yours?"

"Tit for tat? Is that how you want to play it?"

"Well, considering you don't have tits, that could be difficult." He grinned a bit at that one. While she was fading, she didn't miss that he obviously ogled her hers.

"I'm Eric. I own this place. You are?"

"Valerie."

"Well, Valerie…as I said, you have spilled vampire blood. There are consequences for that. What am I going to do with you?"

"Honestly…I'd like you to call an ambulance, because I'm about to pass out," she whispered, and then did exactly as she said.

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**Author's Note: **So, there it is. I'm nervous, so let me know what you think. What did you love, hate, etc.? I always worry about original characters, because I don't want them to be too Mary Sueish, so let me know. =)


	2. Deal with the Devil

When she woke up, her head was pounding and nausea threatened to overwhelm her. She tried to open her eyes, but her lashes were crusted together with sleep. When she finally did manage to pull them open, she shut them tightly against the blindingly bright lights. Her mouth was dry, making it hard to swallow. Each breath she drew was a dry wind sweeping across the desert, and only served to draw attention to the ache in her ribs. But all of it dulled in comparison to her neck. The pain was still bright, white-hot, and it continued to hit her in waves. When she tried to turn her head away from the light, pain stabbed through her and she couldn't hold back her scream.

"She wakes." The voice was familiar, and distinctly female. Valerie forced her eyes open and saw the blonde woman who had taken her ID at the door. She was no longer wearing the gaudy black dress, but was clad in an equally ridiculous red vinyl number that clung to her form, revealing almost as much as it concealed. Her shoes, however, were completely adorable. If she hadn't been so worried for her life, Valerie would have asked about them.

"You sound shocked," Valerie croaked, barely able to force the words out of her mouth. She may have still been alive, but she definitely felt like Death. "That's comforting." The blonde vampire woman gave her a look that clearly said she didn't care at all about Valerie's comfort.

She took a moment to study her surroundings. She was still in the office, lying on a leather sofa, her clothes stiff and stained with dried blood. Her lab coat had been spread across her like a blanket, for which she was grateful because her skirt had ridden up. Her pantyhose were draped across the back of the couch, her shoes perched on the desk on top of a stack of papers.

"Can I get some water, please?" she asked, unsure of what to say. Her mind was going a million miles a minute. She wasn't in a hospital, but she hadn't died of blood loss, apparently, so what the hell happened? Not that she wasn't glad to be alive, but answers were definitely her number one priority. That and a hospital visit.

The blonde vampire handed her a glass of water and left. Valerie gulped it down as quickly as she was able. The problem was, her hands wouldn't stop shaking, and most of the water ended up on her shirt front. Blood would have rushed to her cheeks in embarrassment, had she blood enough for it to do so. She took a deep, painful breath to try and still her uncooperative hands. They continued to tremble despite her efforts to still them. Finally, she stopped focusing on her hands, and tried to pull herself to her feet.

She made it to the doorway of the office before she fell to the floor. While she was lying there, she caught sight of Eric—the blonde vampire woman standing behind him—talking to a man and two children. The idea of children in a bar—never mind a _vampire _bar—was appalling. But they were there, staring at Eric like he was the most fascinating thing they had ever seen. Who knows, she thought, maybe he was.

"Pam," she heard Eric say before finishing the rest of his address to his companion in some foreign language that she didn't recognize. Pam rolled her eyes and walked back to where Valerie was lying on the floor. The children followed her with their gaze, and their eyes widened when they saw Valerie.

"It's not time for you to leave yet, sweetheart," Pam said, nudging Valerie with her adorably-clad foot.

"The kids are watching. Please move me," Valerie whispered, forcing the words out of her mouth. She noticed Eric glance their way for a moment, a curious grin on his face, before resuming his talks with the other man. The children continued to stare, wide-eyed, at them.

"You're worried about the little humans?" Pam asked, disgust in her voice. "Do you think they should be afraid of us?"

"Children shouldn't be afraid," Valerie answered. "We grow up and learn to be afraid. Children should get to keep their innocence."

The look of disgust on Pam's face was painfully obvious, and Valerie wished she knew if it was about the children or herself. Either way, it wasn't particularly pleasant. To make things worse, Pam pulled her off the floor and dumped her onto a sofa out of children's sight before returning to her boss's side. It wasn't comfortable, but at least she wasn't terrifying kids with her blood stained clothes and bruised neck.

She could hear Eric's voice as he said "Better yet, I'll go see her. But I must leave right away."

"No problem," the other man said.

"Give me a minute, and I'll walk you out," Eric said. Valerie heard his footsteps approaching before she actually saw him. He wore a grey suit and black shirt, which only managed to make him look even less human than he had the last time she saw him. She got the distinct impression that was point. He seemed even less human when he fluidly sat himself on the edge of the couch.

"I have some business that needs to be resolved. I should be back shortly," he told her, his voice tense and clipped.

"I want to go to the hospital," she said, equally as short.

"Alright."

"And I want to go home."

"Of course. You may go when I return."

She gritted her teeth, trying to hold back her anger at his smugness. "No. I want to go _now. _ You have no right to keep me here."

"Actually, according to vampire law, I'm well within my rights to keep you here."

"It hardly seems fair that your laws apply to me and mine don't apply to you."

"Life isn't fair," Eric answered, his voice completely devoid of any type of emotion. The smugness that he had shown just the moment before was gone, and instead his face was carefully blank. Very carefully blank. Curious, and completely unable to stop herself, Valerie raised her hand to his face, as if the touch could help her to understand.

He cringed, but didn't pull away. Instead, he watched her while she studied him, trying to figure out what was going on inside his mind. What had happened to him that he—who was going to live as long as he wanted to—thought life wasn't fair? He could have anything he wanted. His expression was too carefully controlled for him not to be hiding something. So what was it?

"Why isn't life fair, Eric? What happened?"

Her hand was warm against the side of his face, her pulse pounding in her wrist. She didn't smell great—there was sweat and dirt and stale, dried blood and bourbon—but beneath everything, he could smell fresh blood. It would be ridiculously easy to grab her arm and have a taste. He couldn't stop his fangs from coming out, and he wasn't sure he wanted them to.

"I have to go," he said, flashing his fangs at her, killing the moment.

"Eric, I _want to go home_!" she snapped. She wanted to scratch and claw and get up and walk out, but she couldn't make her body cooperate with her. Her hands balled into fists as she tried to keep back the tears of frustration that were filling her eyes.

"Behave yourself while I'm gone and we'll discuss terms when I return."

"No, we'll discuss them _now, _if you don't mind," she answered, her voice as sharp as she could make it.

"I do mind, actually. I can't let you go."

"Really? Because I think there's nothing you can't do." Upon hearing her words, that carefully neutral expression returned to his face, piquing her curiosity once again. Her instincts told her to push and push until she found out what was underneath all that. But she refrained, knowing that hurting him was only going to make things worse. Instead, she decided to make a deal. "What about a compromise?"

"What did you have in mind?" he asked, curious.

"You take me to the hospital to get patched up, and then I come back here until you're done with your business," she proposed, her voice crisp and businesslike. He considered it for a split second with a sly grin.

"That'll do. I'll see you when I return." He stood and began walking towards the door.

"What exactly am I supposed to do until then?"

"Sleep. Continue breathing. I don't care, quite frankly, as long as you behave yourself."

"One more thing." He paused and looked over his shoulder at her. "If you're gonna keep me here, I'm gonna drink your booze." He laughed and walked away, calling to Pam in whatever the hell that language was.

Valerie closed her eyes for a moment, trying to rest. Arguing with Eric had taken more out of her than she had ever thought a conversation could. It also made her curious. He was hiding something from her—from everyone—and she wanted to know what the hell it was. But she also wanted to know why the hell he wouldn't let her go. She had nothing of value for him to take. If this had happened last week, she would understand. But now…not so much. Mostly, she was thinking that she made a deal with the devil.

"If you insist on going to the hospital, let's go before time for opening," Pam said, aggravated. Valerie was beginning to think that perhaps Pam didn't really have any other tone. She pulled herself to her feet and tried to walk in the direction of the door. Dizziness overtook her, and she started to sway. With a sigh of annoyance, Pam picked her up and carried her out the door to her car—a surprisingly tame Toyota Camry with a Fangtasia bumper sticker. She dropped Valerie—none too gently—into the passenger seat.

The drive to the hospital was a short one, partly because Pam had no regard for the speed limit. When they screeched to a halt in front of the emergency room, and Pam lugged her through the door.

"If I break my heel carting you to the hospital, there is going to be hell to pay."

"Take it up with Eric. He's the one that ran off to handle other business."

The doors opened and Pam went right up to the check in desk, still holding Valerie in her arms like a sack of potatoes. The nurse behind the desk took one look at them, rolled her eyes, and pulled a form off the top of a stack. She caught the title of the form, which read "Vampire-related injuries form." Pam immediately set to filling it out, which seemed weird, but Valerie let it go. They were called back several minutes later. This time, they wheeled her back in a wheelchair, for which she was grateful, if only because it spared her the indignity of being carried around by Pam.

When she was settled in the exam room, the doctor—a kindly man with glasses—took a look at her neck and shook his head. "Can you tell me what happened?" he asked, though he sounded downright bored.

"Well, what happened is…my…" Valerie trailed off, looking for the right words.

"Vampire companion?" the doctor offered.

"Sure, we'll call him that. He bit me in the, um…throws of passion, and I jerked, because you know how it can be." She added some "if you know what I mean" eyebrow acting in there for good measure. Pam simply raised an eyebrow, though she did look slightly amused. "I just couldn't help myself, and my neck…wound up like this."

The doctor looked about as uncomfortable as he could get, which is exactly what she had been going for. The more embarrassing the story, the less likely he was to ask her too many questions. It also kept him from calling the police, which was her other objective. Eric was going to be far less willing to work with her if she had police crawling all over his bar.

"Well, I'll check you red cell count, and if you're anemic a blood transfusion should fix you right up," the doctor told her excitedly. He was obviously trying to cover his discomfort, and it was highly amusing to say the least. He took a sample of blood and quickly scurried from the room. The minute he was gone, Pam laughed.

"What?" Valerie asked.

"A vampire would never make that kind of mistake. Idiots."

"I know that. But the point was to make it embarrassing, so that's what I went with." Pam grinned at her, and for the first time, it didn't feel like the joke was on her. She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

They sat in silence for several minutes before the doctor returned, only to tell her exactly what she expected to hear. She was anemic and needed a blood transfusion. They quickly pulled some O negative and got the transfusion underway. Pam stepped out of the room for that part, and watched through the window. Valerie just lay there and took in her surroundings, understanding for the first time how some of her patients felt.

She had seen several of her patients in an atmosphere similar to this. Far too often, they lingered at the windows, looking out at what was going on around them. Some of them were aware, some of them just wanted something to look at, and others…some of the others were too fucked up for her to imagine what was going on inside their heads, despite the fact that she was trained to deal with that sort of thing. Well, as trained as one can be when dealing with glamour-induced insanity.

But that didn't matter now. It didn't matter how good she had been at her job, because she had royally fucked up. Apparently the expression "what goes up must come down" didn't only apply to the laws of physics. It applied to her career as well. She wasn't sure what she was going to do just yet, but she couldn't think about it, because it was just too depressing. Instead, she pushed it to the back of her mind and tried to focus on what the doctor was telling her.

"Now, you and your…companion are going to have to be more careful for the next few weeks until that completely heals. You're lucky that the artery didn't rupture."

She nodded seriously. "Of course. We will." Outside the room, Pam snorted. Valerie signed off on all the paperwork she needed to sign, and walked herself out of the hospital, a feat that she was very proud of, considering that she was still a bit dizzy and weak.

Pam cranked the car and glanced at the clock. "Damn. We're going to be late." She then managed to make the return trip to Fangtasia even faster and more nerve-wracking than the trip to the hospital. A line had already formed at the door, with another vampire checking IDs.

"Chow," Pam called as they got out of the car. The vampire checking IDs nodded to her and returned inside. Pam took his place at the head of the line, and commenced her nightly hostess ritual.

"What am I supposed to do, exactly?" Valerie asked, standing awkwardly beside Pam, still clad in her bloody clothes from the previous night.

"Make yourself useful. There's a closet in the office with some spare clothes. Something in there should fit you. Can you wait tables?"

"No," Valerie answered with a wicked smile. "But I can tend bar."

Just before she entered the bar, Pam called her. "Dr. Malone?" Upon hearing her professional name, she stopped dead and felt all the blood rush from her face. What else did Pam know about her? "Try to stay out of trouble."

She nodded tersely. "Will do."

"And one more thing…The Booker's is on the second shelf at far side of the bar."

Valerie nodded and smiled, but wasn't exactly feeling comforted. She never thought she'd admit it, but she actually found herself missing Eric. Not a good sign.

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**Author's Note: **A huge, resounding thank you to everyone who reviewed/favorited/alerted on this story. Your feedback makes me smile a lot. Please continue to let me know what you think. =)


	3. Mourning

By dawn, Valerie was completely and totally exhausted. She also recognized that she was going to have a massive hangover in the morning—evening?—if she didn't get herself hydrated. Pam and Chow watched in amusement as she downed bottle after bottle of water before finally giving up, taking an Advil, and going to bed. Of course, she didn't actually have a bed at the bar, so she just had to settle for the sofa in Eric's office. She was so tired that she didn't bother to discard the skin-tight leather pans that she had pulled from the closet earlier. Needless to say, they weren't exactly breathable, and she wasn't exactly comfortable, but it didn't matter. The minute her head hit the cushion, she was dead to the world.

That was exactly how Eric found her when he walked into his office just after sunset the next evening. His chat with the queen had been more stressful than intended—thanks to Bill Compton—and her threat to have his fangs for earrings was still echoing in his mind. It didn't help matters that she had heard "rumors" that a human had spilled vampire blood in his presence and he hadn't taken any "disciplinary" action just yet. He was still contemplating how to deal with Dr. Malone, and the added pressure from the queen was not something he wanted to deal with.

"Why didn't you just drain her dry right there?" she had asked him. He was still wondering why he hadn't.

"Pam, why is our guest asleep on my couch smelling like she hasn't bathed in days?" he called, trying to deal with the problem at hand.

"Because she hasn't," Pam answered, wrinkling her nose in disgust. "Didn't bother anyone last night, though. They found our human bartender rather amusing."

"Human bartender?" he asked, his voice sharp. "We're supposed to be punishing her for spilling vampire blood and you had her _tending bar_?"

"We had a thirty percent increase in revenue last night. She's good for business."

"And if she doesn't suffer the consequences for her actions, others are going to think that it's okay for them to cause trouble here. We have to make an example of her. Have you found out anything else about her, yet?"

Pam shook her head. "I'll have it later tonight."

"Good. Now get her cleaned up." Despite his authority as her maker and her sheriff, Pam gave him one of _those _looks. One that screamed "Do your own dirty work." He sighed in frustration, though he couldn't blame her too much. She had taken Valerie to the hospital, which was never a pleasant thing for a vampire. There were bound to be questions, and while they were harmless, they were _extremely _annoying. Without another word, he shook Valerie roughly awake.

She pulled her eyes open slowly, noticed Eric, and closed them again. Since the minute she had set foot in this place, life had been nothing but complicated, messy, and a general pain in the ass. She knew that she was in an enormous mess, and that at some point she was going to have to start cleaning it up—the first step of which was going to involve dealing with Eric. But that was all easier said than done, and easier done without a splitting headache.

"Get up. You need a shower. You reek."

"Nice to see you, too. Give me a minute…I'm having a human moment. I'm betting you don't remember what your last hangover felt like," she said, not moving.

"It's been a while, yes. Now get up, or I'll pick you up."

That was all the prodding she needed. She was standing before him a few seconds later, looking completely disheveled. Pam's leather pants were clinging to her, but were too long and puddled around her bare feet. The Fangtasia tank top showcased her slender form well, but was wrinkled and had some liquor and True Blood spilled on it. Her hair was sticking out in all sorts of ways, and in dire need of washing.

"That's better," he said with a humorless smile. She slipped into her shoes and followed him out to his car. A black Jaguar. She had thought that he would have something slightly flashier. But then, perhaps not. He had that kind of confidence that didn't require flashy cars. He was content just knowing that he had the power, he had control. Do what you want, his body language dared, but you'll know when you've acted up. And punishment will be swift.

Except that in her case, it wasn't. She was still breathing (which was always a good thing), walking, and talking. For some reason, she wasn't dead yet, which was extremely comforting, and she was being treated better than she had expected. But the fact of the matter was, she was still there, and she wanted to go home.

"You said I could go home when you got back. You're back, and I want to go home," she said bluntly. There really was no point in trying to be subtle with Eric, not when he had all the cards.

"I can't do that just yet," he answered shortly.

"I think there's nothing you can't do."

He was silent for a long moment when she said that. His face remained neutral, and if not for the slight tightening of his hands on the steering wheel, she never would have thought that anything was wrong. But something was going on. It wasn't the first time her words had caused this sort of reaction. There was sadness in him, and she wanted to know why. How could someone as cold as Eric Northman feel anything at all? But he did, and she had a suspicion that he felt quite deeply.

"What are you hiding from me?" she asked, her voice softer, more gentle. He still didn't answer. She wanted to touch him, to give him _something _to hold on to. "I know you're keeping something from me. You're…sad isn't the right word. It's deeper than that…and you don't want anyone else to see…"

They stopped at a stop light, and she reached for him. Her fingers ran across his jaw, over his cheekbone, as if she could find some answers written in his face. He didn't pull away. Instead, he turned his face into her hand and nuzzled her palm. Drawing a deep breath, he took in the smell of her blood that lay so close to the surface. The whole time, she watched him silently, trying to figure him out. They were interrupted by the honking of cars behind them.

"The light's green," she whispered, not moving her hand.

"How very astute, Doctor." And there it all went. The moment was broken again. The softness was gone, and replaced with that cold sense of humor that she had seen so frequently. "Being the astute woman you are, I'm sure you know that I can't just let you off. You spilled vampire blood, and for that, there will be consequences."

"So what do you want?"

"Normally, when a human harms our kind, I would take it out in flesh."

Her blood ran cold, and her heart started hammering in her chest. No, she thought, stop and think, Valerie. That does him no good. What does he have to gain from that?

"You don't even eat flesh. You drink blood, so what good does that do?" she asked.

"If keeps you from thinking you can get away with that sort of thing again."

"I didn't want to have to do it in the first place. I was trying to have a quiet wake for my future, and he disturbed me. He took my blood first!" She was having trouble keeping her voice down.

"Actually, when you hit him with the glass, you drew first blood."

"He was going to crush my trachea. That counts for something."

"I understand that. That's why I'm only going to take your blood."

"Oh, yeah. You're _only _going to take my blood? I've had more blood related incidents in the past two days than ever before in my whole damn life. No more," she said angrily.

You can give me your blood and live, or you can refuse, and die." His words were blunt and cold. She was still for a moment, staring at him, completely at a loss for words. Of course, she knew that, ultimately, her life was in his hands, but he appeared to be giving her an option. She could choose to live or choose to die. Why give her that choice? What was the catch?

"Why are you giving me a choice?" she asked. "Not that I'm not grateful, but…"

"Would you prefer I decide for you?"

"That's alright. I'm sure I can make up my mind. But why? Why do I get a choice?"

He was silent for a moment before answering. "You amuse me."

"Right. Well, glad I have some entertainment value. But there has to be a catch in there somewhere. What is it?"

"You get to live. Isn't that enough? I know you want to live, or you wouldn't have fought back when you were attacked. I'm giving you that chance," he said. He was unreadable. His tone said that he was annoyed, but his face was a mask of neutrality.

"You're not the type to do anything for free. So what's up?"

"My own amusement is reason enough."

Moments of realization are different for everyone, and different with each realization. When it dawned on Valerie, she wasn't loud. She didn't pitch a fit. She didn't cry or yell, as some others would do. Instead, she clasped her hands in her lap, and stared straight ahead. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet.

"I don't get to go back, do I?"

Eric shook his head. "You're not in Kansas anymore."

In any other circumstance, it would have been funny. Honestly, a stone-cold vampire quoting _The Wizard of Oz. _ But she was all laughed out. All ounce of hysterical humor had left her. In it's place, there was anger and exhaustion. She hated the choice that she faced—not that it was much of a choice. There wasn't really in question of what she was going to choose.

"If I'm so amusing, why punish me at all? Would my pain amuse you?"

He laughed, but the sound was harsh and bitter in her ears. "We all have someone to answer to," he replied tersely. Almost as an afterthought, he added, "I can't have any underlings thinking it is okay to make a scene in my Area. Humans and vampires alike."

She nodded. "It wouldn't do a bit of good to tell you this is wrong…But then, we both know that there isn't really a right or wrong in this world. It's just survival or death."

Her words were as bitter as his laugh had been. He clenched his jaw, knowing exactly what she meant. His maker—his father, his brother, his son—had taught him the same lesson so very long ago. He wiped his eye before a bloody tear could fall and give him away. Valerie saw, but didn't push. Instead, she sat—angry that she didn't have control over her own life, and angry that some of this mess was her own damn fault. But mostly, she was angry because she couldn't bring herself to hate him.

They pulled up in front of a medium sized house. It was sleek, with long, clean lines. There were few windows outside the house, but it was so well-designed that it didn't detract from the beauty of the house. She wanted to make a smart ass remark about it, but she couldn't. Try as she might, everything seemed to fall flat in her brain.

"Let's go," Eric said, sliding gracefully out of the driver's side. She didn't move. She was still as stone, staring at his house. Just as Eric's home suited him, hers had suited her. But not anymore. No longer was she a successful psychologist. No longer was she the head of her field doing ground-breaking research. No, perhaps her home didn't suit her anymore.

"Get up," he said again, not ungently. Still, she continued to sit there. Finally, he picked her up roughly, though his lack of finesse was not on purpose. Humans were fragile…sometimes he forgot just how gentle one had to be with them. Being gentle and kind wasn't his business. Intimidation was his business, and he was damn good at it. He pushed the door open and carried her across the threshold, though not without bumping her feet on the doorframe.

"Ow! Put me down!" She came alive—kicking and screaming. He put her down unceremoniously .

"The bathroom is down the hallway, second door on the left. Leave the door open."

"So you can have a good view?" she said, though it didn't carry its usual sting.

"So I can guarantee you won't do anything stupid," he answered. "Like try to run away."

Valerie nodded and made her way down the hall without a word. She knew that she should be taking in her surroundings, trying to figure out what it could tell her about Eric, but she didn't much care at the moment. Without much thought, she stripped off Pam's clothes and stepped into the shower. As the hot water hit her, the dam that had been holding everything back broke. She couldn't stop the tears that welled in her eyes and overflowed down her cheeks.

It wasn't _fair. _ It wasn't _fucking _fair. Fair was a useless term, she knew, but that didn't stop her in the least from wishing that it was. But then, if wishes were horses…She wanted to hit something, anything, just to make it hurt as much as she did. She wanted to rewind the last two days and do them all over again. She wanted to hate Eric Northman for putting her in this situation, but she couldn't. The fact of the matter was, if she hadn't broken all her rules, if she hadn't pulled into Fangtasia, if she had just paid a little more attention, maybe things would be different…

…But they weren't, so all the "what-ifs" didn't matter. Her situation was her own damn fault, and she knew it. Here she was, no other options but to accept her new life and move on. But it didn't stop her from mourning the old one. It didn't stop her from mourning for what she had lost. It didn't quell the mass of confusing emotions that were overwhelming her.

Eric's voice pulled her from her reverie. "If you stand under the water much longer, you're going to burn yourself."

And that was the straw that broke the camel's back. With no thought of modesty, she pushed back the shower curtain, and stepped out of the shower swinging. Her first punch connected with his jaw, her second with his stomach. She couldn't see worth a damn because of the tears that were still pouring down her cheeks, but she kept on throwing punches anyway. The next few hit his chest, each blow bringing her closer and closer, until she collapsed against him.

Her blows were like a child's—weak and futile—but he let her throw them anyway. When she fell against him, he caught her, and let her stay there. He wasn't going to kill her, and he wasn't going to change her, but her old life was still gone. He had never needed to mourn for his life, though he had—and still did—mourn the loss of others. It was a necessary part of life—and death—and he wasn't going to deny her that.

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**A/N: **So, a huge thank you for all the support on this story. Y'all are amazing. Please continue! Reviews? Please? =)


	4. Perfectly Exquisite Despair

It took Valerie a few minutes to pull herself together, and when she finally had, she still felt empty. She hated herself for crying into Eric's shirtfront. It made her feel horribly weak, and showing weakness in front of Eric Northman was like cutting your foot in a shark tank. He was going to zero in on that weakness and push and push until he found out everything he wanted to know about her. She wasn't a fan of that idea. No, she didn't hate him, and she couldn't blame him for her situation, but still…He was going to take her blood as a show of force, and he was going to tie her to the vampiric world for the rest of her hopefully long life.

Despite it all, she found herself unable to pull away from him. It was too easy to stay right where she was and let herself go on autopilot, or to let someone else take care of everything. His embrace—for that's exactly what it was—was _comforting_. He probably didn't mean for it to be, but it was. She had hit him over and over, and he took it. She knew that he had let her hit him; he was a vampire, after all, and could have stopped her if he wanted to. But he didn't. He let her have her moment, but she still needed to _feel _something…something other than despair and anger. She wanted some type of connection with someone.

She reluctantly pulled herself away, putting just enough space between them to study his face. His jaw was clenched tightly, his fangs out. Her own emotions: anger—though not directed towards her—and pain were reflected in his face. She reached for him, this time not trying to hurt him, but wanting to comfort him. As powerful as he was, he still felt things, though he would have her believe that he didn't. Right now, he was feeling far more than he wanted to, and he couldn't hide it from her.

"Are you…alright?" she asked, though words could not encompass what it was that she truly wanted to say. He didn't answer, but instead just stared at her. "What happened? Who do you grieve for?" Again, he didn't answer. She had gone to school for years—four years of undergrad, two for her masters, and then three more for her Ph.D—to be able to deal with unpredictable people and their emotions, but all of that was gone, pushed to the far corners of her mind. He was in pain, and she wanted to comfort him, if only to distract her from her own pain.

"Godric…" His voice was faint, but she managed to catch the single word. She decided not to press. Not when he was hurting as bad as she was.

"Eric…let it go," she whispered. A single red tear escaped down his cheek, shortly followed by another and another. He didn't want to be crying, or feeling anything for that matter, but he couldn't help it. Some things, grief included, were just too strong to suppress. He never answered her, just stood there with the tears streaming down his cheeks. Valerie wiped them away before they had a chance to fall and ruin his clothes. She took him by the hand and tried to sit him down on the counter. Instead, he led her into his bedroom. Once there, he just stared at the bed.

He didn't object when she pulled his suit jacket from his shoulders and led him to the bed. It was large, which was good considering his immense height. "Lay down," she whispered, her own tears falling once more, thought they were no longer just for her. As gently as she could, she untied his shoes and pulled them from his feet before climbing into bed beside him and wrapping her arms around him. It was as if a damn had broken, and everything that he had kept contained came spilling out. He sobbed into her chest, not noticing her nakedness. She ran her fingers through his hair, trying to comfort him in any way she could. "It's okay…go ahead and cry…"

He froze for a moment, and looked her in the eye. "It's not _okay._"

"It's okay to grieve. If you don't…it'll overwhelm you." She tried to wipe her tears away, and smeared his blood on her face in the process. But it didn't matter. He pulled her tighter, wanting the comfort of another body. She surprised herself and pulled him closer still. She wasn't sure why she wanted to comfort him, but she did. Perhaps it was because he was so strong. To see someone as strong as Eric grieve…he had to have lost someone immensely important. She knew the feeling.

They lay there like that for some time, pressed against each other, taking a sort of twisted, artificial solace in each other's misery.

His hands had been resting on her waist, but moved over her body, down her thighs, parting her legs. Suddenly, she was very aware of her nakedness and their situation. Heat flashed through her as she realized where this was heading, and she knew that she wasn't going to stop him. She should, but it was an escape, even if only for a little while. For a few moments, she would be too lost in the ecstasy of release to think about the fact that her life was in pieces around her. And maybe it would be a comfort to him, too.

She straddled him, and quickly started working at the buttons on his shirt, though her trembling hands made it difficult. He batted her hands away and had his shirt off a split second later. His muscles were sleek and hard beneath her palms, perfect in every possible way. He pulled her down to him, pressing her breasts against his chest. The coolness of his skin was a bit of a shock, but she continued to move against him, not wanting to stop.

Before she knew what was happening, she was beneath him and he was divesting himself of his trousers. She pushed against his shoulders, trying to get back on top. Valerie felt so powerless, unable to control her own life, and she had to take some of that back in any way she could. She wrapped her legs around him, and with a strong push, he was back on the flat of his back, looking up at her.

He twined his fingers in her hair, pulled her closer to him, and kissed her soundly. She kissed him back, trying to force everything she didn't want to feel into him, as he did exactly the same thing. It didn't matter that his fangs had pierced her lip, that there was blood trickling down her chin. It didn't matter that it stung a little bit, or that she was probably going to have bruises from this come morning. He reveled in the feel of her nails tearing into his back. They only broke apart because she needed air, and then she was kissing him again.

His fangs cut her tongue, but she didn't care. She bit his lip and pulled, not taking care to be gentle. It wasn't like she could hurt him anyway. She nipped at his earlobe, his neck, his shoulder. Eric's hands were on her hips, moving her as he wished. When he slid inside her, she gasped and threw her head back, lost in the sensation. His hands tightened on her hips and she knew she would have bruises, but it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was that she _felt _something, and so did he.

Eric shifted, and pushed her hair off her neck. He brought his lips to her neck, right over the pulse point. Her heart was pounding, the blood flowing just beneath the skin. He pushed her head to the side, and dug his fangs into her neck. Her blood flowed over his tongue, and he savored the taste. AB negative…extremely rare.

Valerie's hands —almost of their own accord—as she arched her back in pleasure. It wasn't like anything else she had ever felt. It stung, it burned, it ached, it bruised, but it was perfect. As she reached her climax, wave after wave after wave of perfection poured over her, and she was lost in it. He moaned something in some foreign tongue, and collapsed back into the pillows, basking the sensation. It truly was perfect.

It was perfect despair.

Valerie tensed and turned away from him as the realization hit her. She had been looking for an escape, and instead she had run face-first into the very thing she'd been trying to forget. Beside her, Eric was still, staring at the ceiling. They didn't move for several minutes, before he reached for her. When she felt his cold hand on the small of her back she shivered—not entirely from the cold—and then stiffened.

"I have to shower again, and then we have to get back," she said, trying to pull it together. Her voice was unsteady, and she took a deep breath, trying to calm herself.

"I'll join you. I need one as well."

She didn't protest, just made her way into the bathroom, started the shower, and began scrubbing. He stepped in shortly afterward, and began kneading shampoo into her scalp. Tingles ran down her spine. They had fucked only once, and already her body was responding to his touch almost immediately. She turned to face him, and saw that he wanted her again. He reached for her, but she held up a hand to stop him.

"Not again," she whispered.

"It was good," he said. "It was fantast—"

"It was perfect. It was exquisitely perfect despair, and we both know it. And once you know it, it looses all its charm. You know that you're just trying to run away from something, and you can't. So—"

"Clean up and let's get back to the bar. There's a change of clothes for you on the bed," he told her. Then, he stepped out of the shower and left her alone with the one person she really didn't want to be alone with: herself.

She shouldn't have done it, but…for those few minutes, it all stopped hurting. She stopped worrying about her blood being forfeit, or her flesh or whatever. She stopped worrying about going home, or what she was going to do with her future, or if she was even going to get a future. She had left it all behind for a little while, and it had been great. The best sex she'd ever had. There wouldn't be a second time, though.

Several minutes later, Valerie stepped out of the shower and toweled dry. The towel had a few small drops of blood on it, but that was to be expected. He had bitten her. Again, she shouldn't have let him bite her…but hindsight is 20/20, and it wasn't going to happen again. She dressed quickly in the red Fangtasia t-shirt and yoga pants that were lying out on the bed, before heading down the hall to find Eric.

He was sitting on the sofa, talking on his cell phone, looking exactly as she wouldn't expect him to. She had always seen him dressed for work, clad in a suit or a black button down. Now he wore a black tank top and sweat pants. Most surprising, though, were the flip-flops on his feet. They were Rainbows—in black, of course. Upon seeing her, he told whomever he was speaking to that he would see them later tonight, and hung up.

"I thought you had to work," she said.

"I do. I just won't be doing work on the floor tonight. Let's go."

The ride back to Fangtasia was a silent affair, and Valerie was glad when the finally pulled up in front of the bar. Pam stood out front, wearing a blood red gown that fit her like a glove. When Eric approached, her she handed him a file folder, and he immediately went inside.

"What was that all about?" Valerie asked.

"He has some information to look over," Pam replied, looking disdainfully at Valerie's jeans and t-shirt ensemble. She sniffed several times, and raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"If you don't like it, take it up with Eric," Valerie snapped—not bothering to offer any other clarification on what exactly she was talking about.

"Well, you should go see Eric. He can tell you what you're supposed to be doing."

Valerie nodded and walked away before the conversation could get any weirder. She definitely didn't like the idea of having to justify her sex life to Pam, who probably had weirder kinks that Valerie ever thought about having. Plus, it was never going to happen again, so it didn't matter.

She made her way through the crowded bar, back to the door of Eric's office. It was closed, and even though she knew that was where she was supposed to be, she knocked anyway.

"Come in," he called. She pushed open the door, and stepped through it. Before she had a chance to close it, she found it closed already, and a cold, pale hand was wrapped around her throat, pinning her against the door. The hand belonged to Eric, who stood before her, rage written all over his face.

"What are you—" He silenced her by pressing harder on her throat.

"Did you think that I wouldn't find out, Dr. Malone?" he asked, his voice like venom. Dread settled in the pit of her stomach, and she just knew that she was dead. There was no point in trying to feign ignorance, so she decided to be blunt.

"I hoped you wouldn't," she managed.

"What was your plan? Were you going to finish what your brother started?" he demanded.

"No. It wasn't like that—"

"Really? So you expect me to believe that the sister of Luke MacDonald manages to wander into my bar on _accident_?"

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**A/N:** So, there you have it. An enormous thanks to everyone who reviewed. I hope you enjoyed, and please review! =)


	5. Histories

Valerie wanted to answer his question—to tell him that she hadn't been planning on blowing him to smithereens, to maybe try to explain her situation—but she didn't have the breath to do so. His hand was large enough to fit almost all the way around her graceful neck, and was choking the breath out of her. She grabbed vainly at his hand, but couldn't pry it loose. Just before she was going to black out, he loosened his grip.

"I just needed a drink. It wasn't an accident, just a coincidence," she managed to gasp.

"A coincidence, not an accident. Really? And you just accidentally managed to get into a fight with a vampire that night?" Eric snarled, tightening his grip yet again. This time, it was painful. The pressure on her still-healing neck wound was excruciating, and she screamed, only to have him clamp his other hand over her mouth. She bit down on his fingers as hard as she could, and tasted his blood in her mouth. She tried to spit it out, but his hand kept her from doing so. "You're lucky that I don't rip your throat out right now."

She kicked at him, trying to get free, but it was useless and she knew it. There was no point in fighting, because he was stronger than she would ever be, and if she did manage to get free, he had forever to hunt her down and find her. The only reason she kept fighting was to keep herself from completely giving up. Life was shit right now, yes, but at least she was still alive. She had every intention of staying that way for as long as possible.

"I'm gonna take my hand away, and you're going to be quiet. Understand?" She nodded, mostly just wanting a chance to breathe freely again. He pulled his bloody hand away from her mouth, only to find that the wound already healed. She unwrapped his hand from around her neck, though only because he let her. "Now, very shortly, a friend—"

"You know the meaning of the word?" she spat. She knew that he did, that he had the capacity to love and bond, but she was too furious about her bruised throat to care. He continued on as though he hadn't heard her.

"—is going to come, and you're going to tell us every last detail of why you're here. Until then, you're going to behave, or things are going to get very uncomfortable for you, very quickly."

She sat there in silence, stunned. How had he managed to find out about her brother in just three days? Is that what the phone call had been about back at his place? It must have been, which explained the silence on the drive back…and maybe his attire. What had he said? Oh, right._ I just won't be doing work on the floor tonight. _

"You knew before…back at the house," she said quietly. He nodded. "That's why you opted for sweatpants and flip-flops, right? Because it would a shame to ruin one of those nice suits my blood."

"It would be a shame to waste any of your blood staining a suit. AB negative is a very rare blood type," he answered, his voice cold. "You could say it's a delicacy to my kind."

"Fabulous," she muttered under her breath. Just what she needed. "Eric, I didn't come here to hurt anyone—"

"Save it. You'll have time to tell your story."

He didn't want to hear what she had to say, not right now. He knew that this shouldn't be any more than an annoyance and a warning for him to tighten security, but it was deeper than that. He had shown her his grief, and she was a…He had let her in, albeit unintentionally, and she had betrayed him. As amusing as she was, he couldn't have a traitor in his midst. Not to mention, he still had to deal with the matter of her spilling vampire blood. But he didn't want to. He wanted to understand what went on inside that head of hers, and if she was dead, he would never have that chance.

After several long minutes, during which Valerie studied the objects on Eric's desk, there was a quiet knock at the door. Eric opened the door and Valerie braced for the worst possible scenario. Maybe Pam or that insane bartender—Chow—had come for a "friendly" visit. Whatever she had in mind, it wasn't a tanned blonde woman, and a pale, dark-haired man.

"Sookie, Bill," Eric said tersely. He didn't bother to give them a chance to return his greetings. "This human wandered in here three nights ago and got into a bit of a tussle. She spilled vampire blood. Now I've come to find out that her brother was Luke MacDonald."

Both the woman and the mad stiffened at the name, though Bill—he didn't really look like a "Sookie" to her—looked alarmed at Eric's mention of her drawing blood from a vampire. He had to be a vampire. No human was actually _that _pale…or still wore their hair like that. Sookie was studying her closely, and sat down beside her on the couch.

"And you needed me because?" Sookie asked.

"Dr. Malone is going to tell us her story. I just want you to do what you usually do," Eric answered. Valerie stiffened as Sookie took her hand. What did this woman usually do? "Like now…What's she thinking?"

"She wants to know what it is that I usually do. And why you have Tabasco sauce and a candle on your desk…You don't really strike her as the romantic, light-candles type. She left that bottle of liquor there, but she thinks the enormous calculator is kinda funny," Sookie said. Valerie stared at her and tried to pull her hand away, but Eric held her still. "Why are you here…Valerie?"

"It's none of your business," she answered, though not rudely.

"She doesn't think that her personal business is—"

"If you want to know what I'm thinking, just ask me," Valerie cut in, glaring at Eric. "I think that my personal business is no one's business but mine. But no, everyone wants to pry into my life, and draw their own conclusions about it without even _asking _me first what my opinions are. Instead, you would judge me because my brother did something…horrific."

"Tell me why you're here," Eric growled, tightening his grip on her shoulders.

"Life is…life is a bit like traffic lights. It's all about timing, and the way things fit together. If the timing is off, you have a back up or a collision—"

"I didn't ask you for a philosophical oration," he snapped, losing patience.

"If you want answers, you'll listen, okay?" He fell silent, and she continued. "Luke and I were not exactly…planned pregnancies. Mom was with our dad off and on, and mostly off. But on the few occasions that they were on…well, whoops." She shrugged her shoulders carelessly. "I was born, and Dad didn't stick around, so Mom's last name went on the birth certificate. Same with Luke. Dad just…popped in whenever he felt like it, but when I was eighteen—Luke was sixteen—he turned back up again."

"How sweet," Eric said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. Valerie decided to ignore him.

"He came to my high school graduation. He went to Luke's ball games, and was really supportive when Luke blew out his knee. Luke welcomed his with open arms, and it looked like he was actually there to stay…But I…there were still some issues that needed to be worked out between he and I. We were supposed to go to dinner one evening, but he didn't show, so I swung by his apartment. Turns out he didn't really like his wallpaper so much and decided that his brain matter would make a much better decoration for bathroom walls."

Sookie gasped as the images of Valerie's father flashed through her mind. His eyes were still open, wide and unseeing, as he lay in a puddle of blood. Blood and brain matter and some skull fragments were embedded into the bathroom wall. They stood out in painful contrast with the white wallpaper. She pulled herself from the images and nodded at Eric.

"Luke was completely devastated, and…I can understand that, I guess. He wanted that "father figure" that he was supposed to have. He convinced himself that Dad must have been brainwashed by a support group he was going to. I was older, a little more cynical, and thought that maybe life was just too much for him. But, the idea of understand why people do the things they do stuck with me, and I majored in psychology in college. I went on and got my masters in counseling, and then a Ph.D. in clinical.

"When you guys revealed your existence to the rest of us," she said, gesturing to Eric and Bill. "Luke found the answer he was looking for. Stories about your ability to glamour people were spreading like wildfire, and Luke convinced himself that our father must have been glamoured into killing himself."

"That's ridiculous. What purpose would it serve?" Sookie asked.

"I love—loved?—my brother, but he wasn't exactly…He was the kinda guy that shot from the hip. He was looking for any excuse not to blame our dad, and he found the one he liked best. I remember him mentioning the Fellowship of the Sun and Reverend Newlin. The good reverend convinced him to change his last name to "honor our father's martyrdom." He stopped talking to me when I tried to explain that I didn't think that was what had happened to Dad."

"You study vampire psychology? You can do that?" Sookie cut in, staring hard at Valerie.

"Would you stop that?" Valerie asked. "It's creepy."

"Vampire psychology?" Bill asked, speaking for the first time.

"It used to be that when someone was on trial, they went for the insanity plea. Innocent by reason of mental incompetence. But when vampires came out in the open, a new defense came up. Innocent by reason of vampiric mind control. We know that you're capable of it, it's just a matter of proving when it's been used. When Luke told me his theory about Dad's death, I went into that field to prove him wrong. I started working with the FBI on cases involving potential glamour."

"It's hard to study, just because vampires aren't exactly rushing up to let us study them, and humans aren't lining up to be glamoured…At least, not for psychological research. But I managed to find some patterns common in most of the people who had been glamoured. The mind tries to fill in the gaps of missing time, so they can tell you their version of events from beginning to end, but then they can't do it backwards—"

"That's nice. Cut to the chase." Eric was getting more and more impatient, and his impatience was reflected in the tightness of his grip on her.

"Anyway, we had a classic case of glamour. He showed all the right signs, it was completely by the book. So, I testified at his trial that I thought he had been glamoured into killing these women who had slept with vampires. He was released six months ago, and the day he was released, bodies started piling up. He worked the system, knew what to say, how to act…It was…If I had been paying more attention, I would have noticed that it was too perfect, but I wasn't…

"The problem is, when my brother…blew…bombed the vampire nest in Dallas, it was brought to the attention of my superiors, and you can imagine how it looked. I just got someone acquitted who was anti-vampire, and my brother…" She had to stop for a minute to pull herself together. Tears were threatening to overwhelm her. He may have been an idiot sometimes, but he was still her brother, and now he was gone. "My brother killed vampires…They saw me as someone who infiltrated the system to help my brother's cause. The day I got the call from the coroner telling me that I could come pick up Luke's _hand _for burial was also the day I got fired. The shit hit the fan. My life as I know it was over…So maybe you can understand why I wanted drink," she finished bitterly, staring at Eric. He looked to Sookie for confirmation, who nodded. Her sympathy for Valerie was obvious.

"She wants to know if it'll be quick, or if you're going to make her suffer," Sookie whispered, overwhelmed by the emotions that were rolling off Valerie. "Now she's trying not to think that way, but knows that you're not going to think anything else…You're not going to hurt her, Eric Northman—"

"I can fight my own battles, Sookie. Thank you, though," Valerie whispered. Eric was staring at her, the strangest look on his face. She didn't understand it, or him, but then, she probably never would. He dismissed Bill and Sookie with the slightest gesture, and they quickly left the room.

"So, was that heart-wrenching enough for you?" She tried to be cruel, but didn't quite manage it.

"Shut up." His mind was whirling at a million miles an hour. She studied vampire glamouring, and was actually making headway in her research. The queen had wanted her put down immediately…puzzle pieces were starting to snap into place for him.

"If you're going to kill me—"

"I'm not going to kill you," he said. "It's the rest of the vampire community you have to worry about."

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**A/N:** Y'all have been super, super amazing with the response to this story. Thank you so much. Here is the next chapter, and I hope you enjoy it.

PTO--all the objects mentioned on Eric's desk are actually there in the episodes.


	6. First Time for Everything

"What?" Valerie asked, staring at him. He was straightening his desk, trying not to look her in the eye. Frustrated, she grabbed him by the arm, trying to force him to look at her. The adrenaline flooding her system made his arm feel like an ice cube beneath her palm. Her touch might as well have been silver to him. He pulled his arm away, but couldn't avoid her gaze any longer. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you're in more trouble than you could ever possibly fathom."

"That's not exactly an explanation, Eric. That's a cryptic warning."

"Your research…you're researching one of the things that vampires don't want studied—"

"I'm just trying to help—"

"But in order to help, you must first understand, and understanding is not something that we want when it comes to glamour. Vampires have their own methods of punishing those who have broken our laws, and your work is helping to pull us into the human justice system," he explained, pulling his arm free. "When I was…away on business, I went to visit the Queen of Louisiana—"

"You have a queen?" she asked, surprised. She'd heard stories and theories about the infrastructure of vampire politics, but had mostly thought them to be based on rumors and bad movie ideas.

"Yes. That's where I went that day. The Queen wanted to know why I hadn't just drained you on the spot, and she made it pretty clear to me to that I had to take action to punish you. She encouraged—"

"Ordered, you mean."

"—me to take swift, harsh action. She wanted you dead," he said, sitting next to her.

"So why aren't I?"

"When that idiotic preacher on the TV calls us animals, he isn't entirely wrong. We're all animals, and self defense is the most basic of all animal instincts. I didn't think you deserved death for something that comes naturally to all of us, vampires included. The fact that you drew blood is…quite impressive, actually." There was slight admiration in his voice, but no surprise. "Also, it would look highly suspect if you died after picking a fight with a vampire in my bar."

She smiled. "Ah, there it is. That's the Eric I've come to know. Looking out for numero uno."

"You need to take a leaf from my book, then. I would imagine that getting fired would be enough to deter some from trying to kill you, but you already know too much, and the Queen might have—"

"So that makes my life forfeit? No one's going to believe anything that comes out of my mouth anymore anyway. Not after…what happened," she said, dejected.

"There are always a few who will, even if you have been discredited."

"And those few are enough to get me killed?" She tried to quell the fear and panic that were rising within her, but she couldn't quite manage it. She didn't want to die. She'd spent the past few days convincing Pam and Eric that she could be useful in an effort to save her own life, and she sure as hell didn't want that effort to be in vain. But then, Eric was going to look out for himself, and if that meant killing her…Well, if it came down to him choosing between them…he was going to save himself.

"Yes. Unless you can convince the Queen that you're more useful than dangerous—"

"I'm sure I'll be very successful with that one. I'm sure she's already got her mind made up," she cut him off.

"—she's going to demand your death," he finished.

They fell silent for a moment, each not looking at the other. Valerie didn't want to see the truth of her situation written in his face, and he didn't want to see it in hers. They both knew exactly what was happening, but neither wanted to face it. She didn't want to face the fact that she was a dead woman, and he didn't want to face the idea that he might have to be the one to do it. Taking sides against the Queen with a human would endanger his position, and that was something he had to live with for the rest of his eternal life.

"I don't really have a lot of options at this point, do I?" she whispered, finally breaking the silence. Still, her voice was like thunder in her ears, loud and threatening. Just speaking the words made them that much more painful. And if her voice was thunder to her, it was a bombing raid to his.

"No. You can run, or you can stay and try to make your case," he answered, still not daring to look at her. He knew that when he did, he would see her strength and her poise, and the idea of that being destroyed…bothered him. Yes, he was an entrepreneur and a cold man, but he could appreciate things of beauty, and her strength was what made her beautiful. Too damn beautiful.

"Neither option is particularly appealing. Running is just going to buy me time. She's got for-fucking-ever to find me, and when she does…things are gonna be…If I run, I'm giving myself a death sentence," she thought aloud, though it was obvious that what she was saying hadn't registered yet. She still looked hollow, and when she registered her circumstances, she was going to get angry or give up and throw in the towel. Right now, she was empty. Finally, she looked to Eric.

He met her gaze and nodded tersely. "Besides, all she has to do is get on the phone, and with one call, you're wanted all over the United States. With two calls, you're wanted all over the world."

"I look less guilty if I stay."

"Yes," he whispered. She was silent again for a long time, until something occurred to her.

"If I ran, you would be duty-bound to hunt me down. Wouldn't you?" she asked, looking up at him. His face was expressionless.

"If she ordered me to do so, then yes, I would have to hunt you down."

"And since I swallowed the tiniest bit of your blood earlier…when I bit your hand…"

"It would be much easier for me to track you," he finished for her. He left the rest of that sentence unfinished, mostly because it was too uncomfortable for him to tell her what was in store for her if she ran. No matter how obnoxious or inconvenient she had been, since the moment she walked into his undead life, he respected her, and it was obvious. The Queen would get a sick kick out watching him dismember one of the only humans that he had ever had any sort of respect for, and he would be bound to do so.

"So, how long do you think I have to put together a defense?" she asked.

"It depends. Because we'll live forever, time means something very different to us. She may decide to come tomorrow, or she may decide to come in nine months."

"You'll have to forgive my impatience, but that isn't really the kind of answer I was hoping for."

"With the current political climate, especially after the suicide bombing in Dallas, she's going to want this dealt with as soon as possible. I'd say you have two weeks, tops," he said.

"Two weeks to prove my usefulness…two fucking weeks…Jesus…" He could tell she was trying to hold it together. Tears welled in her eyes, but she didn't let them spill over. She clenched her jaw and blinked them back, but they refused to go. Raising her hands to her cheeks, she wiped the tears away as they finally spilled over, drew a deep breath, and resumed thinking aloud.

"What does this queen of yours find useful? Money, services…what?"

"All of the above," Eric answered, settling on the edge of his desk, watching her intently, waiting for the moment when she was going to fall to pieces. But it never came. She just sat there, keeping it together, though he did see her glance at the liquor bottle once or twice. He picked it up and offered it to her. She shook her head and declined. "You know, had it been around when I was alive, I think I would have liked bourbon," he commented, sniffing the amber liquid in the bottle.

"It's good stuff, though you strike me as more the vodka type. Maybe it's because you look Scandinavian…though, vodka is Russian…they're close enough, geographically speaking."

"Swedish."

"What?"

"I was born in what is present-day Sweden over a thousand years ago," he said, his voice distant.

"A thousand…fucking a…"

"You really like that word, don't you?"

"Fuck? Yeah…it's very all purpose. You can use it as a verb or noun or adjective…maybe an adverb…it's a good word. If I could only say one word for the rest of my life—" She stopped as she realized what she was saying. The rest of her life could very well be just two weeks. Two weeks at the most, he had said. In two weeks, she could potentially be dead. She chuckled at the irony of it. When her brother died, she had thought it was terrible, but she would survive. When she lost her job, she thought her life was over. Now, looking back, it was like every door of her life was closing so that she would leave nothing behind when she died.

"You know, when you're younger, everything seems like the end of the world. Every little thing is potentially life or death. Your boyfriend breaking up with you is the end of the world, and you want nothing more than to climb in the bed and never get out again," she whispered, thinking of her college years when her first real boyfriend had broken up with her. "But you push on, and say that when one door closes, another one opens. Well, where the hell are my other doors, Eric? Where are they?"

He didn't know what to say to that. His 'other door' so to speak had been one from final death to eternal life. He had definitely gotten the better part of that deal. She wasn't looking at something like that. She was coldly calculating how long she had to live…the only doors that were opening were the ones that led to a quick death, or a slow and painful one.

"You have choices, you know. They're not ideal choices, but you have them nonetheless," he said, speaking more to himself than to her. Because he knew that while his choices were shitty, he did have them. He could do his job, be political, and let her die—the easiest option, assuming he can block out the shriveled conscience that only seemed to kick in when it came to Valerie—or he could help her. He could defend her, or help her run—and risk losing not only his livelihood, but also his fangs, and his immense power. Neither option sat very well with him.

"I know. And I'm making one. It isn't the option that I like, but it buys the most time, so I stay. Hopefully your queen will be patient, and I'll get a few weeks out of it. It also gives me more time to brainstorm why I'm useful…And you can help me," she said, looking him dead in the eye. He arched an eyebrow.

"I'm going to help you? What makes you think that?"

"Because my death wouldn't sit well with you. The unfairness of it all is enough to hurt even your small, shriveled heart."

She was right, damnit, and she knew it. He nodded. "Well, you've got a lot working in your favor. Your blood type is AB negative—"

"How did you—"

"I can tell by the taste."

"Right. You can tell by the taste…because you…we…there was tasting," she said, suddenly sheepish. It was always awkward to reflect on sex after the fact, especially emotional, trying-to-fuck-the-pain-away sex. "What else?"

"Pam said that when you worked the bar, we had an thirty percent increase in sales. You think you can manage that again?"

"Of course. When people sit at a bar, they want someone to listen, to notice their pain. Give them someone they can spill their guts to, and they'll sit there and drink all night. And hey, I'm a psychologist….was, anyway. Who knows more about listening?"

"You would be able to read signs of when humans had actually been glamoured, too, don't you think?" he asked, pushing, looking for anything that could be remotely useful.

"I made one mistake, and it's not one I'm going to make again. Yeah, I can do it."

"That's just a few things that would make you an asset. It might not be enough—"

"It _probably _won't be enough. But we've got some time to figure out some other stuff, right?" she said, slightly too optimistic. Then it dawned on him.

"You are gonna run. You're going to wait until the day before she comes, and run like hell," he said. She looked away. "That's insanity, you know that. She'll find you."

"You said it yourself. She's already made her mind up about me, and I can't just sit back and wait to be lead like a lamb to the slaughter. I can't do it. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I like living, and I'd like to do so for as long as possible. You said it yourself, I haven't done anything wrong. I'm just defending myself. Basic animal instinct."

Well, shit. When she put it like that…

"And if all else fails…I'm a good lay," she added jokingly. He looked at her, only to see the seriousness of what she was saying written in her face. She was rising off the couch, walking towards him, and it was like she had glamoured him. He couldn't move, couldn't do anything at all. He was paralyzed until she kissed him. When her lips met his, his arms went around her, pulling her closer, feeding off the heat of her body. The kiss was deep and intense—moreso than their earlier ones. She was straddling him, her hands working on his zipper as he peppered kissed down her throat. He heard her gasp as he nipped at one particularly sensitive place.

"I've never had sex on a desk before," she managed to say.

"Well, there's a first time for everything…"

And he wasn't just talking about the sex.

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**A/N:** So, a huge thanks for all the support. Sorry about the delay in posting. A paper kept me distracted. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed, and please review! =)


	7. Can't be Doing This

When she awoke, she was in Eric's arms, and his bed. He was still dead to the world—oh, ha—and she took the opportunity to study him. She had hoped that he would look different when he was sleeping—less wary, more innocent—but he really didn't. But at least he wasn't studying her, trying to figure out what made her tick. Of course, after she spilled her guts to his mind-reading friend a week ago, she was surprised that he was still trying to find her layers. But for whatever the reason, he still looked at her like there was something he couldn't put his finger on, like there was still some secret she hadn't revealed to him.

The sex with Eric was fantastic, though they had only been together once since that night a week ago on his desk. Afterward, she had rested her head against his shoulder, and he had wrapped his arms around her tightly, holding her close to him. In that moment, she felt closer to him than she ever had to anyone in all her twenty-eight years. There was no comforting heartbeat or warmth to him. The comfort came from his strength, and the fact that, for some reason—she wasn't sure why—she knew that he wasn't going to hurt her. That strength would not be turn against her, and there was something to be said for that. Even now, with the day of the Queen's visit drawing nearer, she felt safe in his arms.

The downside to sleeping with a vampire is that they are, in fact, freezing cold. Valerie tried to suppress her shivering as she lay in Eric's arms, but it just could not be done. She gently pulled away from him, only to have him reach out and grab her wrist.

"Where are you going?" he asked, not bothering to open his eyes.

"To get an extra blanket. I'm freezing," she answered. He opened his eyes and studied her. She was standing beside the bed, wearing one of his dress shirts which fell to almost her knees. He let go of her wrist, and popped her on the rear. She grinned at him over her shoulder, strutted across the room to retrieve her blanket, and was back in bed in a flash. She wrapped the blanket around herself and turned to face Eric.

"We shouldn't be doing this," she whispered, studying him for his reaction, and he didn't disappoint. He put on that carefully neutral expression that she knew really meant "I know you're right but don't want you to know that you're right."

He kissed her neck and answered, "Its fun, though, is it not?"

It was fun. Despite the Queen's impending visit, and despite the fact that she knew she shouldn't be in Eric's bed, she was enjoying herself. She was finding that sex wasn't the only thing that she enjoyed about him. Kisses, which were more frequent these days, were great fun. He pushed her to breathlessness, and then let her catch a breath, before kissing her again. When they made love—wait, had sex—he knew how far he could push her, knew when he was too close to hurting her, and stopped. She had purposefully put herself at his mercy, and he hadn't disappointed.

"She'll be able to smell you all over me."

"You've been my prisoner. It makes sense," he said, though he knew that it didn't. Most prisoners stayed in the basement, and they smelled like a combination of piss, fecal matter, and blood. But he couldn't put her in the basement. She didn't belong there.

"Do you keep most prisoners in your bed?" she asked lightly, though the seriousness of her question was not lost on him. He didn't want to answer the question, so he kissed her instead. This was answer enough for her. When he finally stopped kissing her, she realized that she was no longer wrapped in her blanket, and that he was definitely on top of her now. His hands made quick work of her Thus was the distracting nature of an Eric Northman kiss.

His hands were working on the buttons of her shirt, quickly pushing the shirt open, leaving her bare before him. Her skin was pale—almost as pale as his—and silky smooth. He held her hands above her head with one hand, and unlike the other times when he had done this very thing, she didn't try to fight him. It would be so easy to tear her apart, to just bury his fangs in her and snuff out her life. That's what the Queen was going to do when she came. It would be nothing to drain her. He could give her such pleasure that she didn't notice what he was doing until it was too late. If he did it, he could make it painless.

"You're right. We can't be doing this." He abruptly stopped and rolled off of her. She wasn't able to hold back her sigh of disappointment, despite the knowledge that this was the right thing to do. In the blink of an eye, he was across the room, heading for the shower. She took one last opportunity to admire his backside before he had disappeared from sight.

He didn't like where his thoughts were going. He couldn't let her mean that much to him, not when the situation had the potential to end so tragically for her. He needed his distance, and she was taking that from him, unintentionally pushing closer and closer. The urge to go back to her and kiss her one more time was almost overwhelming. He hadn't felt an urge like that since…well, since he was human. He should be angry at her for making him feel this way, but he wasn't. It wasn't like she had set out to do this to him. To borrow Valerie's phrase—which she had used several times in the past week—sometimes, shit just happens. Though Valerie definitely wasn't shit.

Generally, showers were a luxury for Eric. He usually didn't _need _to take them; he didn't sweat, he didn't excrete any hormones that humans did. He only needed to shower after unsavory basement work or a particularly messy feed. Now he showered to get her smell—that intoxicating aroma of blood and bourbon—off of him. He scrubbed harder than usual; if he had been human, his skin wouldn't have been able to withstand such treatment. But he had to get the smell off of him—for her sake and his sanity. When the Queen came to visit, she couldn't smell Valerie on him, or him on Valerie.

And he couldn't stand to smell her on his sheets, on his clothes, on his skin. He didn't need to breathe, but on the occasion that he did, the smell reminded him of things that he didn't want to think of. It made him think of the way she had barged into his life—or lack thereof—and made a scene. It made him think of the way she didn't take his shit, the way that she could play his game. It reminded him of her strength and courage and all the things that he desired in a woman. It made him realize that she was still very much a riddle, and he was quickly running out of time to figure her out.

When he stepped out of the shower, Valerie had fallen back asleep in his bed, just had she had done for the past week. He was too careful to bring just anyone to his home, especially temporary bedmates. He kept a small apartment in Shreveport for such liaisons, and he had expected to keep Valerie there. But then she had opened her mouth and said those words—"I've never had sex on a desk before." It had shocked him—she was a worldly woman, and would tell you so herself—and he knew he couldn't leave her in the apartment. He had been around for a thousand years, and had been with more women than one could imagine, but he had never been anyone's first anything. After her admission, he found himself unable to leave her alone. He had brought her home that night, and then the next, and then the next.

He shook her gently awake. She rolled over and pulled her eyes open sleepily. "Time for work?" she asked.

He nodded. "Get moving. Scrub. We don't want anyone to be able to smell me on you."

She nodded, rolled out of bed, and headed into the bathroom. The warm water fell over her skin as she scrubbed and scrubbed, trying to make sure no trace of Eric—aside from the marks on her neck—remained on her body. Her skin was red and stinging as the water pounded against her body, only making it worse. But she continued to scrub, keeping in mind that too much depended this.

Valerie stopped scrubbing, stepped out of the shower and called to Eric. Almost before the words were out of her mouth, she was standing in the bathroom doorway. She stood before him, naked and dripping. "Can you smell…?"

He leaned in close, and took several deep breaths. He could still pick up traces of himself. He nodded towards the tub, and without questions, she stepped back in. He ran water out the faucet, took up the soap and washcloth, and began to bathe her. Taking note of her red, raw skin, he was gentle—something he hadn't been in longer than he could remember. He was careful as he went over her from head to foot, taking care not to irritate her skin further. When he ran over a particularly angry whelp, she tensed and gasped—unable to keep it back.

"Now?" she asked.

"Better. Clothes in the—"

"I know."

Tonight, she would be sitting beside Eric while he sat on his "throne"—just as she had every other night this week. There were several advantages to this arrangement: it kept Valerie out of the reach of any vampire who might try to kill her to win the queen's favor. It also sent a certain message to the other vampires. It told them that she was his prisoner, and that he had a claim on her—all the while using it to keep her alive. The risk he was running was not lost on her.

"Have you heard anything from the queen?" she asked quietly, almost afraid of the answer she was going to get.

"No. She appears to be taking her time," he answered. Valerie nodded and went to find her clothes, trying not to let her fear show. Eric had heard nothing from the queen, and her time was starting to draw short. Escape plans had been formulating in her mind, though she knew that her unintentional blood bond with Eric was going to cause some serious problem for both of them. When it came down to it, she knew that he wasn't the type to put her first, and she couldn't blame him for that. He had to live with his decisions for the rest of his potentially eternal life, and she wasn't going to put his life before hers, either.

"Fabulous. What kind of crazy costume am I gonna have to wear tonight?"

"Go see," he said with a wicked grin. He found each outfit that Pam had chosen to be highly amusing, simply because they made Valerie look vulnerable and helpless—something that he knew absolutely to be untrue. She may be vulnerable at times, but helpless she was not. No matter the circumstances, she was a fighter, and he knew that was something that would be with her until her dying day.

"Vinyl leggings? I was hoping for the Bavarian serving wench number," she said, eying the leggings with distaste.

"You'll survive," he said before he could think of the implications of what he was saying. She quieted and dressed quickly. Immediately, he understood his comment was in poor taste, though he didn't apologize. He couldn't afford to let himself _feel _anything. Not for her.

"Let's go," she said shortly as she emerged in the bright red Fangtasia shirt and leggings. Her feet were bare, though she didn't care, and she didn't seem to notice. Eric nodded and they made their way to the car. In time, she would calm down. She needed him and she knew it.

In the car, she was still and silent, staring out the window as the cityscape flew by. Eric could hear her heart pounding—perhaps in fear, perhaps in anger. Maybe it was a little bit of both. After a long, unsettling silence, she spoke.

"I need you, and I hate it. If I have any chance at getting out of this alive, I need you. I hate that you're unreliable and I don't have any choice but to rely on you. I hate that I feel so fucking powerless. I mean, what am I supposed to do when you could rip me in half if you wanted to? 'You'll survive.' If I do, it's only because someone decided it might be fun to watch me play the game a little bit longer. Have you ever even been at the mercy of another person? It's a shitty situation."

Her voice held more bitterness than he'd heard before in any other human being. It didn't seem possible that someone could only be twenty-eight years old and be as bitter as she was. But then, she could practically hear the clock ticking with every breath she took. He couldn't let her get out of the car like this.

"You will survive," he said quietly. His voice was full of quiet intensity as he stared at her, forcing her to listen. "You will. If anyone can find a way, it's you."

"Where there's a will, there's a way?" she asked mockingly. He nodded and got out of the car before he let his self-control slip for a moment and kissed her again.

The evening was a slow one, and it seemed even longer for Valerie because of all the looks she was getting. The vampires were angry; they knew who she was, and resented not being able to tear her apart. The humans—who obviously didn't understand what was going on—were jealous that she was sitting beside Eric. If she hadn't been so worried about survival, she would have loved to flaunt her connection, but at the moment, that was the last thing on her mind.

Instead, she formulated escape plans. Daylight escape, steal a car—it couldn't be too hard, right?—and drive until she couldn't anymore. She could catch a flight out of to one of those less vampire-friendly countries, though many of those countries weren't really woman-friendly, either, so that didn't seem a good choice. There was always the "submerge yourself in the wilderness" plan, but she had no survival skills. It was looking like stealing a car was her best option.

"Penny for your thoughts," Eric said, his voice completely devoid of any emotion. He didn't even look at her when he spoke.

"Take a wild guess," she answered, not about to tell him the truth. "I have to pee."

He grinned, as he always did when she had to have a "human moment." "Then, by all means, please go."

She made her way quickly through the crowd to the bathroom—which was surprisingly full for a vampire bar. It was packed full of fangbangers touching up their makeup, trying to make themselves as perfect as possible. Valerie quickly used the bathroom and left, trying to avoid overhearing the sickly talk about the "ethereal creatures of darkness." The adoration in their voices made her want to puke.

As she approached Eric's throne—as she teasingly called it—a young woman deliberately stepped in front of her without warning. When Valerie tried to step around her, the woman wouldn't let her pass. Instead, she gave Valerie the once-over and grinned. Again, Valerie tried to pass, but to no avail.

"Excuse me, can get by please?" she asked, trying—for once in her life—to avoid trouble.

"I don't think so," the other woman replied.

"Listen, honey. I suggest you move your skanky ass out of the way before I wax the floor with it," Valerie snapped, losing all patience. The vampire woman did, too, it seemed. She grabbed Valerie by the throat and carried her to where Eric was sitting. His lack of expression told Valerie one thing: she was in deep shit.

"Your prisoner is getting a bit big for her britches, Eric. This is what happens when they aren't kept properly stowed away in the basement like they should be."

"I apologize, your majesty. She can be a bit…headstrong at times, though highly amusing."

At hearing his words, Valerie's blood ran cold. This was not the initial meeting she had in mind for dealing with the queen. When the queen finally let go of Valerie, she landed in a heap on the floor. She studied the queen from head to toe, taking in the creature that would probably end her life. No, there was no probably to it. When she looked in the queen's eyes, she saw her death there.

"Valerie," Eric said as though he were speaking to a particularly stupid child. "This is her majesty, Queen Sophie-Anne of Louisiana."

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**A/N: **A huge thank you to everyone who reviewed. That makes my day, my week, my month...I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I'll try to update ASAP. Reviews are my AB negative!


	8. Blood and Couches

"Well then…hello," Valerie said, unsure of what else to say. The entire bar had stilled, with the exception of the few tourists, who had quickly fled at the first sign of confrontation. Valerie could practically feel the stares of disbelief burning into her back. The first impression was made, there was not a damn thing she could do to take it back, and now she was just going to have to make the best of it. She had shown that she was a strong woman—if not slightly reckless—and now she had to use that to her advantage. Prove to the queen that she was strong enough to be of use to her. Valerie could think of only one way to do that: go into psychologist mode. "Did you have a nice trip?"

Sophie-Anne laughed and gave Valerie another once over (more like a thirteenth-over). Apparently, she was liking what she saw. Taking a step closer, she cupped Valerie's cheek in her palm. Fear welled within her, but Valerie tried to suppress it, to push it into the farthest corners of her mind so that she could focus on what she had to do. The queen's hand was cold, but unlike Eric's, it bothered her. She felt—for the first time—like she was touching a dead thing.

"She has sass, but she still seems a bit tame for your tastes, Eric," Sophie-Anne commented. "Though I can understand why you didn't kill her." Despite her words, her tone was not convincing. Valerie violently pulled away from her touch.

"There was fun to be had first, majesty," Eric said, eyeing Valerie with animalistic hunger. She couldn't help but cringe. She felt a bit like the prize goose being chosen for Christmas morning. "When she decides to put up a fight, she's anything but tame."

"And did you enjoy your time with Eric, Ms.—"

"Doctor."

"—Malone?" Sophie-Anne ignored Valerie's interruption.

"I don't know if 'enjoy' is the word I would use for it," she answered tersely.

"Really? I can smell him on you?"

Thinking quickly, Valerie used the first excuse she could think of, and probably the last one she would ever want to use. As much as she wanted to live, it pained her to have to characterize Eric this way—even if he wasn't exactly a knight in shining armor. He could be—and usually was—a jackass, but he wasn't the type to force himself on a woman. Hell, he probably didn't need to with the way women—and men—threw themselves at him. "Just because you can smell him on me doesn't mean I wanted him on me."

The queen arched an eyebrow in interest, and let her expression ask the question. Eric's answer was short and detached. "She was getting out of hand. That seemed the best way to punish her until you could arrive to pass judgement."

"Right, judgment. You know, it's really the sentence that is more fun…well, not for you, I guess. For you, it kinda blows," she said, looking at Valerie.

"That's an understatement," Valerie said, unable to keep her voice from trembling. "Just keeping me here is punishment enough."

"Oh no, honey. You spilled vampire blood. You're not going to get off that easy."

"Easy? This hasn't been _easy. _ My life could end tonight or tomorrow or next week or the next. It's in your hands. Accepting that you have no control of your life is not _easy._"

"And that sucks for you…but walking around like Eric's pet is not punishment enough."

"So you're going to what? Kill me? Tear my arm off? What purpose does that serve? I can be useful, and you would throw that away?" Valerie didn't cringe, though she wanted to. She may have been asking questions, but her voice was begging, which was the last thing she wanted to do.

Eric's face as neutral, but he was cringing inside. She was desperate to live, and it was apparent. Much of the joy in taking a life—and he had taken many lives in his long life—lie in the spectacle of it. The victim begged and struggled. Their hearts raced, their breathing increased, the blood coursed through their veins, ready for the taking. Valerie's breathing was controlled, but he could hear her heart rate increasing, which meant that every other vampire could hear it to. Fangs were coming out, and Eric didn't stop his.

"What could you possibly do for me?" Sophie-Anne asked, grinning widely, as if the entire thing was hilarious. Her fangs were extended, making the grin terrifying.

"I'm a psychologist. It is—was my job to read people. Right now, I can look at you and say that you're channeling the 1950s with your dress, most likely because you think it's funny. The 1950s was a time of conservatism, and you're obviously anything but. Your use of modern-day slang, which is mostly used by young people under the age of twenty-five, is also because you find it funny. You're ancient, and you're thumbing your nose at the world because you'll be forever young. It also shows a complete lack of reverence for the position you hold. You feel entitled to it, like you deserve it simply for being beautiful," Valerie said, rattling off her analysis before thinking about the words that were coming out of her mouth. But she didn't stop with Sophie-Anne.

"And Eric…you sit there on your throne, watching everything. I think that you must have been a soldier of some sort, because you assess every situation like you're on the battlefield. Of course, this is probably why you like to feed on the unwilling. You still enjoy the thrill of the hunt. You look down on people, like we're less than you, but you love to be admired. You don't feel drawn to unnecessary action because you don't feel like you have to justify yourself to anyone. But the thing is, even your actions have consequences. You just don't like to think that those consequences could touch you."

She had been cold and detached when talking about the queen. She didn't know Sophie-Anne, and Sophie-Anne didn't know her. She couldn't excuse the queen's actions, and she didn't really want to—especially if the queen decided to drain her dry—but Eric's were worse. When she had analyzed Eric, her voice grew shaky and—damnit—emotional. Yes, she knew she couldn't expect him to take up for her, he had a life to live, after all, but she wished that he would. She wasn't really angry with him—it wasn't his fault that she was in this situation. She was angry with herself for wanting him to take up for her.

Eric, who had been sitting on his chair the entire time, had stood at some point during Valerie's rant. He was staring at her, his face still a neutral mask. The only thing that betrayed his feeling was his clenched fists. It was taking every ounce of his self-control not to pounce on Valerie and do everything he could to silence her. Yes, she had proved that she could do her job as a psychologist, but she had also made less than flattering remarks about the two most powerful vampires in the state of Louisiana. Not good.

The queen was silent, though her expression was not as carefully controlled as Eric's. She didn't have the thousand years of practice that Eric did, and Valerie noticed. _She's not as old as Eric, _she realized. _If age is power, why isn't Eric the king of Louisiana? _ Before she could further ponder the issue, she found her hand tight in the frigid grip of Sophie-Anne's hand. The pressure was crushing, and she knew that her hand was broken. She was pulled off the main floor of the bar into the office that she was now very familiar with. Eric leaned against his desk, Sophie-Anne perched on a stool, and Valerie stood before her.

"You've got quite a mouth on you," Sophie-Anne snarled. "That's what got you in trouble in the first place. For being so smart, you sure didn't learn your lesson."

"You decided to kill me before you ever met me. All you care about is the fact that I was starting to get an understanding of something that even _you _don't understand, though that isn't much of a surprise to me."

Valerie's head snapped to the side as Sophie-Anne smacked her across the face. There was blood in her mouth, and she had to stop for a minute and make sure that she still had all of her teeth. They were still intact, but she wasn't sure how long they were going to stay that way. Dark spots danced in front of her eyes, and she felt herself swaying on her feet. Unable to do anything else, she collapsed onto the sofa.

"I am over four hundred years old, _honey. _ I have seen more than you could ever imagine. Don't even think about telling me what I don't understand," the queen said, taking Valerie's face between her hands. It would be so easy for the queen to just press her palms together and crush Valerie's skull like a grape. But she liked the spectacle of it just a bit too much to end it so soon. "I _understand _that you want to live. But what I want to know is how much you'll give up to save your life."

Valerie wasn't sure if she should be anxious or relieved. She was being given a chance to live, to finish out her life, but only if she accepted it on the terms that the queen was about the lay out for her. And she was dreading those terms. Sophie-Anne was a creature who enjoyed the misery of others. At least Eric didn't kill for fun—not entirely, anyway. There was a purpose behind his killing—to send a message, to cover his tracks. The queen just liked to play in the chaos, knowing that she would always come out on top.

"Eric, you've tasted her."

"Yes, your majesty."

"Blood type?"

"AB negative."

"And where did you feed from?" Valerie really didn't like the look that Sophie-Anne was giving her.

"The carotid artery."

"You really should broaden your horizons. Femoral blood of a female human—and an AB negative one at that—well, it would make you believe in God," she said, laughing at her own joke. She was the only one laughing. Valerie and Eric were each studying each other, and trying not to get caught doing so. She wanted to see something—anything—in his expression that said she was going to survive this. She found no comfort there. He needed to see her strength, to know that despite the ultimatum she was about to get, she was going to push through. He found no comfort, either.

"I occasionally entertain guests at my home. An AB negative female would make quite the addition to my…" She trailed off, unable to think of the proper word.

"Posse?" Valerie supplied.

"Pantry. You would supply your blood, among other things, when called upon to do so."

A whore. Her Royal Highness, Queen Sophie-Anne of Louisiana was offering to spare her life if she became a whore. She had gone to school for years to avoid having to live this kind of life, and despite her best efforts, it was the job that could save her. She could sit around and be a blood bag for her Royal Bitchiness, or she could die. And then there was the catch, the "among other things" clause that had been in there. She could never be exactly sure what was going to fall under that category, but she was quite sure that she didn't want to be under the control of Sophie-Anne for the rest of her life.

The irony of the situation was not lost on her, and she was left with only one thing to do: throw her head back and laugh. It wasn't humorous laughter. It was hysterical laughter, reserved for situations when nothing else will do, when life is so ridiculous, there is nothing else to do. She lay there, on the sofa, laughing hysterically. When she realized that this was the very thing she had been doing a just over a week ago, she laughed harder. Sophie-Anne stared at her in confusion. Eric stared at her, his neutral expression crumbling into something else equally as indefinable.

It was a little bit of everything. He wanted to laugh with her, because the whole situation was ridiculous. She had been defending herself, just as each and every single vampire in the room had defended themselves at one point or another. He wanted to strangle her for once again letting her tongue get her in trouble. He wanted to clamp his hand over her mouth and stop her laughing, because the queen hated what she didn't understand, and she didn't understand Valerie at all. He wanted to carry her away from there, if only so he could finish the puzzle of her, to put it all together. And he was angry because he wasn't going to get that chance.

"I'm glad you think this is funny, Ms—"

"Doctor. I have a Ph.D. I am a fucking doctor," Valerie managed between laughs.

And that was the straw that broke the camel's back.

In the blink of an eye, before Valerie or Eric had any time to act, the queen had broken off a large chunk of wood from Eric's desk, and stabbed Valerie it. The piece of wood—six inches in diameter—had gone through her lower abdomen and was buried deep into the couch, pinning Valerie down. She shrieked in pain as she felt blood begin to puddle beneath her.

"It shouldn't take her too long to bleed out…though it does seem a shame to waste AB negative…" Sophie-Anne bent over Valerie and lapped at the blood that was oozing from around the piece of wood. "Not bad, though I prefer my humans. Anyway, finish it, Eric, and then clean up the mess." Without another word, she calmly wiped the blood from her mouth, and quickly left the bar. As soon as she was gone, Eric was leaning over Valerie. She reached for him, and took his hand in hers, squeezing it as the pain grew more and more unbearable.

"I can't…feel my legs. She must have…hit…my spinal cord," Valerie managed. Eric nodded, but didn't say anything. He wasn't the kind of man—or monster—that knew how to comfort someone. More than anything, he had feared death, and managed to evade it for a thousand years. But he still feared death, more than anything. How was he supposed to comfort her, when he was afraid, too? "How long…before I bleed out?"

"If I leave it in…I don't know. Hours, maybe. If I pull it out, you'll be dead in under a minute." Eric shifted, trying to better assess the wound, and he bumped the couch. She screamed in pain, and then gasped as she realized that breathing hurt just as much. Her grip on his hand tightened further as she tried to force the words out. It took several minutes before she managed.

"Then go…pull it out."

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**A/N:** Thanks so much to everyone who read and reviewed and favorited. Y'all are really amazing. I love the feedback, and that y'all are so involved with the characters--especially Valerie. It's great. Thanks! Please review! =)


	9. Scarlet O'Hara

Eric's mind was working faster than his superhuman body ever had. Valerie was going to bleed to death—probably in less than a minute—if he pulled the stake out of her, but he couldn't heal her if he left it in. He could hear her labored breathing, and knew that the internal bleeding was worse than he had initially thought. Blood was filling her chest cavity, which was preventing her lungs from expanding. Soon, her heart would be unable to beat as well. He didn't have any time to think through what he was going to do. He had gut feelings, and that was it.

She needed blood. His blood would save her—if he managed to get it in her before she lost too much blood—but she needed a lot of it. More than he had ever given anyone before. He was going to have to move faster than he ever had before, not only to save her life, but to end her pain.

It was the blood and the pain that were making the situation unbearable for them both. The smell of her blood was intoxicating to him. It took all his self-control not to take just a taste, but he didn't. He forced his wants to the back of his mind and focused on saving her. She was just trying to keep breathing, trying to push the pain out of her mind, but it was just too overwhelming. She wanted to breathe, but couldn't seem to force air into her lungs.

He didn't like what he saw in her expression. Tears were streaming down her face, though they were more from pain than fear. He could see the resolve in her eyes as she considered her own demise. He hated that look. He hated that she was giving up on herself. He gritted his teeth, and tried to think of a solution. He was determined not to let her die. Not for doing something that he would have done himself.

"Hold on," he said gruffly. "I need to get something out of my desk." Upon hearing his words, fear crept into her expression. She was still clinging to his hand and wouldn't let go. She didn't want him to go. She didn't want to die alone. "Let go. I'm trying to—" He didn't have time for this. He pulled his hand away, but in the process he jerked her body. Her scream was ear-shattering.

Before she was finished screaming, he was pulling a knife from his desk drawer and was back by her side. Her eyes widened when she saw the knife in his hand. "You have to stay awake. Can you do that?" he asked.

"…No…it hurts and…I can't breathe…"

"Look at me," he ordered, staring into her eyes.

"Don't glamour…don't want to be…vampire," she gasped.

"It could be the only way for you to survive."

"Queen would…control…forever."

"At least you would have forever. You can move out of her queendom. You can't do that if you're dead."

"Please…don't."

She was begging him. In the time that he had spent with her, she had never begged anyone, and he doubted it was something she ever did in her life. But she was _begging _him. _She _was begging _him. _ He had to try it her way first. But that didn't mean that she had to be in pain the whole time. Her cries were tearing him apart—which was ridiculous, because people had begged and screamed at him for centuries.

"Look at me," he said again, staring into her eyes. He pushed his way into her mind, but he had to be careful in doing so. If he bulldozed through her mind, he could destroy everything that made her who she was. He could feel her fighting him on this, trying to keep him out of her mind. It was so like her to do this. Even as she was dying, she was trying to have her way. She was a fighter, all right. "I can take the pain away." Understanding sparked in her eyes as she nodded, and he pushed through into the depths of her mind.

"Valerie," he said, his voice low and seductive. "Are you feeling alright?" The mere suggestion was enough for her to nod.

"Fine…how are you?" Normally, he would have grinned at such a response, but not right now. Not when her condition was so precarious.

"You must stay awake. I am going to pull this stake out, and then I need you to drink. You must drink. Do you understand?"

"Yes," she choked out. He lay beside her on the sofa, trying to get as close as possible to her without disturbing her any further. Her blood was warm as it stained his clothes. With one hand he held the knife—strong and steady—with the other he held the chunk of wood. He was still for a split second before simultaneously pulling the stake out with one hand, and pulling the knife across his throat with the other. Blood poured from both wounds, covering them both. She was paralyzed for a moment, just lying there and letting his blood cover her face. Realizing that she was taking too long to drink, he pulled her face to his neck, forcing her to drink. Her lips sealed over the wound and she drank. His blood was thick and coppery tasting—not her favorite—but she couldn't seem to stop drinking. Mouthful after mouthful slid down her throat.

But she was losing blood faster than she could drink his. The wound on his neck was already closed, and she was still gushing blood. He wasn't going to be able to save her. Not the way she wanted, anyway. He could hear her heart slowing dangerously.

"Fuck," he whispered. There wasn't enough _time. _

Even as he lowered his lips to her wound, he was torn. She didn't want to be a vampire. She didn't want to live forever under the control of the queen—or under the control of anyone. But at least this way she would have a choice in living. He knew that there was a chance that she was going to hate him when she awoke, but that was a chance he was willing to take. She loved life, and didn't want to die, but she didn't want to live forever, either. She was too unpredictable; he hadn't been able to figure her out and he didn't know how she was going to react. But he knew that if he let her die, he was going to be very unhappy for a while.

The taste of her blood was intoxicating—moreso than ever before. Perhaps it was because it was all around. Her blood was on his hands, his clothes, his face. The smell of it was driving him mad, like a shark with blood in the water. He didn't know how he had stopped before, and he didn't want to now. Her blood was rich and sweet and salty and warm. But she wasn't. She wasn't warm anymore. Her warmth was seeping out with her blood.

Pulling the knife across his throat again, he forced her to drink. She didn't have enough blood left to actively fight him anymore, but she didn't drink either. Instead, her jaws were clamped tightly shut, keeping anymore blood from entering her mouth. He pinched her nose shut, and within a few seconds, her mouth was open. Before she had a chance to close it, he was forcing his blood down her throat. After a few moments, she drank of her own will, and he himself go.

The feel of her lips on his throat was more intense than anything he had felt as a vampire—or a human. He couldn't stop himself from letting his eyes slip closed and gasping in pleasure. Somehow, he wasn't sure when, she had gotten closer to him, her bloody fingers tangled in his suit jacket. She was tiny and soft against him, and he pulled her closer, crushing her against him. Her heard her sound of pain, but he didn't let go.

Everything was fading away for her. The clean lines of Eric's office blurred, and all she knew was the blood in her mouth, and the body next to hers. She wanted more of it all: him, his blood…was there even any difference? He was red and sticky and cold…was he cold, or was she not warm? Was there a difference? All she knew was that she wanted _more. _ She needed him closer—inside her…but he was inside her. His blood was inside her and it was all the same…maybe? She didn't know, and she didn't figure it out before the world faded to red, then black, then was gone.

She stilled next to him, and he lay still for a moment. He had heard her breathing slow and her heart stop, and for the first time in his thousand years of existence, he was doubting himself. It seemed like there was so much blood all over the place that he couldn't help but wonder: had he gotten enough blood in her before she died? The huge opening in her stomach was closed, so it would seem that he had. But he had given her too much blood, and was too weak to do much of anything just yet.

"Pam," he called, barely raising his voice. She pushed the door of the office open, saw the mess, and quickly closed the door behind her. Pam arched an eyebrow, though he wasn't sure if it was disgust or shock. Did anything shock Pam anymore?

"You made a mess," she commented mildly.

"The queen made a mess. I was correcting her mistake."

Pam took a sniff and caught the smell of her maker's blood in the air. "You turned her?"

"Yes. But it took more blood than it should have."

Noting the knife on the floor and the blood on Eric's throat, a true look of surprise crossed her face. She could still be shocked. "From the carotid?"

"She needed a lot of blood very quickly. I need you to…bury us. There's that place in the corner of the basement."

"Of course." And she was gone, leaving him alone with Valerie—well, Valerie's body. She was still wearing the vinyl leggings and Fangtasia t-shirt that he had given her just a few hours ago. With disheveled hair and a bloody face, and she looked more vulnerable than she had in all the time that he had known her. Even when facing death, she was calm and steady and _strong. _ But now she was vulnerable, and he had made her that way.

As a human, she was subject to no one. Vampires could physically control her, but she was still able to make her own decisions. She was a free woman. Now, she would have to follow his orders, and the orders of his queen, and of any vampire older than herself. And that was because he had turned her. She belonged to him now.

And for what? He liked her, yes. She was one of the few humans that he had laughed with and not at. She was full of contradictions. Mentally strong, but physically weak—in comparison to him, anyway. She could be crass, but she could be sensitive. She was steely, but also soft and kind. Valerie was a puzzle, and he wasn't able to solve it. Is that why he had turned her? Or was it because of something else? Something deeper?

For the first time, something occurred to him. Godric had grown tired of living and met the sun. What if she were to do the same? She hadn't wanted to be a vampire, and he had changed her. She was just stubborn enough—and strong enough, and resolute enough—to do something like that. Even though he wasn't exactly sure about the nature of his feelings for her, he sure as hell didn't want her to meet the sun.

There were too many questions and too many situations running through his mind. A faint smile passed over his tired face as he remembered something that Valerie had told him. She had been exhausted after a full night of tending bar, and was cranky as hell. While riding back to his place, he had watched her anger and annoyance fade from her face, until her expression was completely neutral. When he asked her what she was doing, she explained.

"Right now, I don't get the luxury of emotions. I have to find some way to come out of this alive, and that means that I have to Scarlet O'Hara that shit."

"Scarlet O'Hara that shit?" he had asked, needing an explanation.

"You know, "I can't think about that today…I'll think about that tomorrow." Scarlet O'Hara,_ Gone With the Wind_? You have to tuck everything away until you have the time and strength to deal with it. You Scarlet O'Hara it," she had explained, as though explaining something to a small child.

There was too much going on in his mind. He was thinking of the consequences of his actions—both for him and for her. If—well, when—the queen found out that he had disobeyed her orders, she would take her vengeance. She could have his fangs torn out or some other punishment. She might destroy Valerie, the last thing he wanted her to do.

He was distracted from his thoughts just long enough to climb into the hole that Pam had dug. He wrapped his arms around Valerie and closed his eyes, trying to force everything out of his mind. The dirt was cool as it covered him, and shortly, all was darkness. But there was still too much in his mind that he didn't want to think about. So he took a leaf from Valerie's book.

"Scarlet O'Hara that shit," he whispered to himself. Then he closed his eyes and was dead to the world.

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**A/N: **So, there you have it. Another chapter. Thanks so much for all the response. It's great to know that y'all like the story and the characters. Please review!! =)


	10. Pain

Eric Northman had been staring at the same plot of ground for the past three hours. He had awakened and quickly dug his way out of the earth. He stood stock-still, leaning against the wall, waiting. He had not bothered to shower, instead leaving the dirt caked into every crevice of his body. His suit was a deep, ugly brown from the dried blood, and his hands were still sticky with it. The smell of dirt and stale blood permeated the air, but he didn't flinch. He just stood there and stared at the ground, waiting for any trace of movement.

Pam brought him a few bottles of True Blood, the first of which he downed in fifteen seconds flat. The second bottle was gone in just under a minute. Giving Valerie so much of his blood had left him weak and hungry. After two drinks, some color came to his cheeks, but he still didn't move. He hardly blinked, he was staring so hard at the ground.

Time continued to pass. Seconds became minutes, which became hours. Upstairs, he could hear the crowd thinning as the tourists left when the atmosphere got to intense. Then vampires began leaving with their meals for the evening. The music began to die down, and Pam came downstairs to stand beside him, equally as still. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity—even for a vampire—she broke the silence.

"She should have risen by now."

Pam had her fair share of pet humans, and she felt…affection for them—in her own way. In the time that Valerie had been around, Pam had enjoyed her company—and it was about time that someone stood up to the queen. Valerie was amusing—she had spunk—and Pam was going to miss that.

Eric didn't answer, but instead continued staring at the same plot of earth, as if he could force her to rise by sheer strength of will. Still, the ground was undisturbed. Finally, he slid down the wall and sat still. He feelings were obvious on his face for the first time in centuries. To say that he was disappointed wouldn't even begin to cover it. He was feeling loss, again, so soon after the passing of his maker. Pam knew that loss was something that Eric didn't want her—or anyone else—to see. She slipped away quietly, leave him alone with his loss.

He had been so sure that she would rise. He had been so busy thinking about what she would do when she woke that he had not stopped to think that perhaps she wouldn't. He had been so certain that he had gotten enough of his blood in her. He had been so sure that he had been in time.

But Pam was right. She should have risen by now. Valerie was dead, just as the earth she was buried beneath was dead. She was not going to rise, but she did not deserve to remain in his basement. But then, no one would miss her if her body stayed where it was. There was no one—no family, no friends, no co-workers—to miss her. But she deserved a better grave than a corner in his dank, disgusting basement.

He dropped to his knees and began to claw at the dirt, pulling it away from the place where she lay. The dirt caked beneath his usually immaculate fingernails, but he didn't care. He left it there and continued to dig. He took his time pushing the earth away, taking care not to disturb Valerie—her body—any further.

Though he knew that at some point he was going to uncover her, he was still slightly taken aback when he unearthed her face. He had to stop for a moment, just to take her in. Her face was pale and peaceful. This was the first time he had ever seen her look peaceful since he had met her. Only in death could she have the peace that she had been seeking when she stumbled into his bar and into his undead existence. Peace, it seemed, came at far too high a price.

"Valerie."

He finally broke the silence that had settled over the basement when he whispered her name. Running his dirt-caked fingers over the planes of her face, he tried to set her face in his memory. After a thousand years, he was hardly able to remember his human life—though he rarely ever wanted to. Dr. Valerie Malone was someone that he wanted to remember.

He closed his eyes, trying to visualize her in his mind. Memories of their time together passed before his mind's eye. Valerie as she pranced across his bedroom for a blanket. The look she gave him when he popped her on the ass. Valerie holding that broken bottle, looking as dangerous as a human could to their kind. Valerie crying into his shirtfront at the unfairness of her situation. The two of them falling into bed together. The way that she moaned in pain and pleasure as his fangs pierced her neck. He could practically hear her moaning. Everything was too vivid in his mind. Eric forced his eyes open to study Valerie once again.

And her eyes were wide open, staring at him. For a moment, he finds himself completely lost in her gaze, as if she has managed to glamour him. But then he snaps out of it as he realizes that he sees pain in her eyes. Her moans seemed so vivid to him because she was moaning in pain. Pain that she wasn't supposed to be in.

When someone is turned, they get a new life with a stronger body, keener senses, and immortality. When he awoke from his transformation, Eric had felt strong—invincible, actually. He was high on the feeling of power that coursed through his veins. It was obvious that Valerie was not. She was paralyzed with pain, afraid to move for fear of making it worse. Immediately, he began clawing at the dirt, clearing the rest of it away from her body.

Her hands were balled into white-knuckled fists, blood leaking from her grip. Her toes were curled under, and every muscle in her body was tense. Her jaw was clenched tight, and had she needed to breathe, she would have been gasping for air. When he picked her up out of the hole, her body was still completely rigid and immobile.

"You have to relax. Right now you're only making it worse," he said. His tone was comforting, though his words were not. Her moans became helpless whimpers and bloody tears began to fall down her cheeks. He carried her up into the club and set her down on a sofa. "Valerie, what hurts?"

After several minutes, she managed to pry her jaws apart long enough to say, "Everything" before she screamed. It was an ear-splitting shriek that made him feel her pain. He clamped a hand over her mouth to stop the noise, but he had never seen or heard of anything like this before. He had no idea how to stop her pain.

"If I take my hand away, can you promise not to scream?" he asked. She nodded stiffly, and he pulled his hand away.

"Eric…what's…wrong with…me?" He took her fist in his hand, and forced her fingers open. Her nails had cut tiny little half-moon shaped cuts into her palms—the source of the blood—but the cuts had long since healed. Wrapping her hand around his, he tried to stay calm while coming up with an answer for her.

"The queen impaled you on a wooden spike. I tried to heal you by giving you my blood, but you were losing blood faster than I could give it to you. Do you remember?" Her hand tightened painfully around his as she nodded, and realization dawned in her eyes.

"You…changed me?" He nodded. "Does the…bitch know?" He grinned just a bit at her name for Sophie-Anne. At least her sense of humor was still intact.

"No, she doesn't."

"It hurts…please make it stop."

"I'm trying. Just trust me." She continued to cling to his hand. The pain was so intense, so all consuming. It was as if someone were trying to force sunlight through her veins. It burned, but was icy cold at the same time. The pain was constantly sharp, never relenting, never giving her a respite from the agony. Holding his hand was the only comfort she had, the only thing keeping the pain from driving her insane. To let go would be letting go of hope.

"Valerie, you have to let go of my hand. I can't help you if don't let go," he said, taking care to keep the worry out of his voice. She shook her head vehemently, and bloody tears continued to flow down her cheeks. He snatched his hand away, not meaning to be cruel, but he needed to talk to Pam, and he couldn't have her overhearing his uncertainty.

To the normal human eye, Eric was practically a blur as he made his way over to where Pam stood behind the bar. With her new vampiric eyesight, Valerie was able to see every move through the bloody haze of her tears. He stood close to Pam, talking under his breath, trying not to have her overhear.

"Have you ever seen anything like this?" he asked, thinking of the decade or so that they had been separated.

"Never. Not something like this. When I woke, the power I felt was intoxicating…nothing like this. The queen would know—"

"No. We can't go to her. She wanted Valerie dead, and I gave her eternal life. That isn't going to work out well for any of us," he said. He was going through his mental rolodex, thinking of anyone and everyone that he could call. Isabel may have heard something from Godric in the past hundred years, maybe Malcolm—though he hated to call on a minion. Bill Compton would be useless. Stan was dead. Any of the nearby kings or queens would be too willing to betray him, only to offer him sanctuary. Isabel was his best bet.

"Has she fed?" Pam asked. He shook his head. "I'll feed her. You make your calls."

Eric quickly retreated into the office, wanting desperately to escape the image of Valerie shrieking in pain, muscles tense, and completely helpless on his couch. He had changed her trying to save her life, and instead, he had cursed her with this pain. Pain that he had no way of explaining or getting rid of—at least, not now. He wasn't really the type to feel guilty, but he did right now. He felt guilty as hell. He quickly dialed Isabel in Texas, hoping that she could help him.

"Hello?" a female voice, lightly accented, answered the phone.

"Isabel. It's Eric, and I've got a problem." There was no point in beating around the bush with Isabel. Not when it was as urgent as it was currently.

"What's wrong?" she asked, concern obvious in her voice.

"I have a newborn problem. Her change was not exactly the most ideal. She was losing blood faster than I could give her mine. I was lucky that I managed to get enough blood in her for her to survive. But it took her longer than usual to rise, and now she's in more pain than I've ever seen any vampire experience short of…sunlight."

Isabel was silent for a long time. It wasn't thoughtful silence, either. It was that uncomfortable silence that precedes bad news. He heard her take a long, deep breath before she answered him.

"I have seen what you're speaking of. Has she fed since she rose?"

He glanced out the door of the office and saw Pam forcing True Blood down Valerie's throat. Valerie was still in pain, her back arched, her toes curled. Her tears had stopped flowing, but only, he suspected, because she had no more to shed. She was physically unable to cry anymore.

"Pam is feeding her now, but the pain isn't fading. What's going on, Isabel?"

"I've only ever seen this once. It was another messy change. A human and a vampire were in a car accident—the human was driving. The human sustained massive injuries, and was too far gone for vampire blood to be of any use in healing. Changing him was the only option."

Eric was losing patience as he heard Valerie's cries coming from the other room. His heart hadn't beat in a millennia, but it ached for her. He had caused her pain, though he had good intentions. But then, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions…isn't that what they say?

"Cut to the chase, Isabel."

"The vampire did everything right. Took the human's blood, and then gave him hers. They stayed the night in the ground together, and when she woke, she waited for him. When he didn't rise, she dug him up, only to find him completely paralyzed with pain. It lessened after he had fed, but then got progressively worse—"

"What causes it?" Eric's voice was sharper than he meant it to be, but Valerie's cries were getting louder with each passing minute.

"Godric theorized that it was because the maker didn't get to drink enough blood from the human prior to the transformation. We drink their blood, give them ours, and then lie together in the earth so that there is an exchange of essence. When the maker doesn't get enough of his child's blood, the exchange of essence isn't fully completed. That makes it painful for the new vampire."

"So what do I do about it?"

"I don't know," she said shortly, her tone of voice telling him that she didn't want to go into details. But frankly, he didn't care about what she wanted. He cared about Valerie lying in the other room, in too much pain to move.

"What did you do?"

"We never found a cure for it…He m-met the sun before we had a chance to find the answer." Her pain was obvious in her tone, and suddenly the realization hit him. It was her human who hadn't been able to complete his transformation properly. She had lost someone she loved. That's why she didn't change Hugo… "If there's anything I can do—"

"No, you've done enough. Thank you," he said abruptly, and hung up. His mind was working overtime, trying to think of some sort of solution. He thoughts were interrupted by a loud crash from the other room. Rushing back in, he saw something that he had never wanted to see. Pam was on the floor behind the bar, stunned. Valerie was propped up on the sofa, holding a wooden chair leg in her hand, her intent obvious.

"Valerie, put it down," he commanded. She had to obey him, he was her maker. But she wasn't obeying. Instead, she was eyeing the stake like it was a dear friend. He was taken completely by surprise. Most vampires, when given an order by their maker, followed immediately. There was an internal compulsion that drove them to follow their maker's orders. But Valerie's compulsion didn't seem to be as strong as it should be—or would be if her change had been ideal.

"I…told you not to…change me, and you…did it anyway," she said, her voice trembling.

"You were going to die. Now put the stake down, Valerie." He could see her shaking with the effort it took to disobey him. Still, she was holding out much longer than any vampire he had known was able to manage.

"I heard you talking…this is never going to stop, and…It hurts so much…"

"I know it does—"

"No! You don't—Ah!" She couldn't even finish her sentence before the pain brought her to her knees. She still hadn't let go of the stake.

"So you're going to end it? No, you won't. As your maker, I command you to put the stake down." Unable to disobey him any longer, the stake clattered to the floor, and he snatched it up. Just to make sure she didn't try it again, he added, "As you maker, I also command you not to take your own life."

She cried out again, this time more from frustration and despair than pain—though that was obvious, too. She looked at him, eyes wide and pleading. The pain was more than she could bear. It was white-hot and sharp, and every second. As long as she lived, there would be no relief from this pain.

"Why?" she asked. "Why would you be so cruel?"

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**A/N: **So, here's another chapter for your reading enjoyment. At least, I hope you're enjoying it. Also, a huge thanks to everyone who has given me feedback. Y'all are fabulous. Thanks so much, and please keep it up. Please review! =)


	11. Beautiful Preoccupation

**_A/N_**: So, I'm so so so sorry this took so long. I've been insanely busy with the end of the semester haul, and haven't been able to do this. Anyway, here it is, for you enjoyment. _

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_

_Why would you be so cruel? _

Her words brought memories rushing back to him—all the memories he had tried so hard to forget. He could see Godric standing on the roof, the sky lightening behind him. The sun was rising all over again. He could sense it coming, and that overwhelming helplessness that came with it. The knowledge that there was nothing he could do. He couldn't even ease his maker's death by joining him. Godric was leaving him. Leaving him alone.

Alone. He had been with Godric for nine hundred years, and then Godric had just…left him. It had nearly torn him apart, leaving a looming abyss that threatened to swallow him. He had kept her alive—if it could be called that—for more reasons than he was willing to admit to himself. Not only was it because she was something of a mystery, but also becaue he didn't want to face being alone again. H had Pam, yes, but she followed him with blind loyalty—despite her objections to his orders. But she wasn't Valerie, who had brought him to life, so to speak. Valerie had just begun to fill the void that Godric had left behind. Maybe it wasn't love—he was far too cynical a creature to ever fall in _love_—but whatever it was—preoccupation, maybe—had been keeping his mind off Godric. And now Valerie—his lover, his beautiful preoccupation—was desperate to take herself from him.

And he could hardly blame her. She was in more physical pain than he could possibly fathom, and it was his fault. He couldn't deny that he was the reason she was in pain—well, him and the queen. But she had told him to let her die, and he didn't. He couldn't let her go. Maybe it was the curiosity, maybe it was the sex, maybe it was the fact that she was fucking gorgeous and kept him from falling over the edge into the abyss. But for whatever reason, he couldn't let her die, despite her telling him otherwise.

Well, her words had told him to let her die, but he could see the fear in her eyes. She had resigned herself to death, but she didn't want to die. She was still terrified of it, but thought that it was the better option than continuing to suffer. He couldn't really say that he blamed her.

Lying on the floor, her back arched in pain, every muscle tense, bloody tears streaming down her cheeks, she was still beautiful. Seeing her like this made him feel guilty—yes, guilty—for the first time in a thousand years. Perhaps it would have been better if he had let her die…No, he was convinced that it was not. He just had to find a way to kill the pain.

"Eric…why do I have to…why does it always happen to me?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper as she forced it past her lips. He tenderly wiped away her bloody tears.

"Just in the wrong place, that's all. I'm going to find something for you—"

"How? You can't ask the queen, and whoever that was on the phone…obviously didn't know."

"I'll find a way. You just have to give me time," he said, just managing to keep his voice steady. He didn't have the right to ask her for more time. He had taken enough from her as it was. But if she would let him have the time—not the she had much choice, because he was going to force her to give him more time—he could give her more than he had taken. She would have a whole new life without the pain.

"Please…just make it stop," she whimpered, reaching for his hand. Weakly, her tiny fingers wrapped around his enormous hands. Tears had long since stopped flowing, as if there were no more blood in her to cry. "What's wrong with me?"

"The transfer of essence was incomplete. Because you were bleeding, I didn't get enough of your blood, and the transfer of essence was…wrong."

"So take more of my…blood, and do it over," she said.

"Your blood is…your blood was drained, and replaced with mine. Your blood is mine, so that won't complete the exchange."

Despair twisted her features. She tore her hand from his grasp and reached for the stake once again. He pinned her to the floor, his huge body crushing her against him. He felt her body tense, and wasn't sure if it was from anger or pain. He was almost hoping for anger.

"Get off me, you son of a bitch! It's my life. I didn't want this, and you forced it on me. Let me fix your mistake and end it!" she yelled.

"No. You _will _give me more time," he whispered—keeping his voice low and cold. She gritted her teeth, and a look of determination passed over her face. This should have been a good sign, except that if she were a normal vampire, her fangs would be out. Instead, her teeth were normal, as if she didn't have the strength to force her fangs out.

"Why won't you let me go? You didn't want me around when I was alive, so why is it so important now—"

"Don't question me."

"I'll do whatever I damn well please—"

"Stop talking…please." His expression softened on the last word. It was a plea for her cooperation, for some silence. He needed to think. There had to be some way to stop her pain, and he had to find it. Her pleas hurt him, perhaps because they made so much sense. It was her life. He should let her do as she wished.

But he was a cruel man—he tortured people to death in his basement—and he wasn't going to let her go. He was selfish, and for his own benefit, he was going to keep her alive. He was going to find a cure for what was wrong with her, if only to absolve himself of his own guilt. Yes, guilt…it surprised him, too.

She was staring at him—confused—and somehow also understanding. She didn't quite understand why he truly needed her silence—but she was willing to give it to him. Her life would end—hopefully bringing an end to her pain—but until then, she could give him the gift of her silence. She wasn't sure why her words were hurting him, but they were. If his pain was a fraction of what she was feeling, she pitied him.

"Just promise me that you're not going to try kill yourself again," he said, his voice soft. Again, a plea.

"You ordered me not to…master." There was an edge of bitterness in her voice, but it fell flat. Mostly he just heard pain and desperation. She needed some sort of relief, and it was all she could do to hope for it.

"Pam will feed you again, while I make some calls. Try to relax, and stay as still as possible, so it doesn't hurt as much." He rolled from on top of her, and she immediately screamed again. He clamped his hand over her mouth. She went limp under his touch. "I'm going to take my hand away. Don't scream."

He pulled his hand away, and this time her jaw was clenched tight, keeping the scream locked away in the back of her throat. She reached for him, but he was gone, and Pam was forcing more blood down her throat. Without protest, she drank it all. And then another bottle, and another. She didn't stop to think of whether or not she was hungry, just that the pain was ebbing just slightly and she had to keep it at bay.

"The sun will rise soon. Are you going to take her home?" Pam asked when Eric came back, looking just as discouraged as he had before. He nodded tersely and then returned to his office, leaving Valerie and Pam in the main area of the bar. Valerie tried to close her eyes and push the pain to the back corners of her mind so that she could think. Transfer of essence, blood, give and take…nothing came to mind.

"We've got to go. The sun will be up soon," Eric said when he re-emerged. His face was stonily neutral as he tried to keep her from getting further disheartened. "I'm going to pick you up and carry you to my car, okay?" She nodded.

He slid his hands under her now cold body and lifted her as if she were nothing. He carried her out to his car and set her gently in the front seat, where she shrieked again as he let go of her. The second that he was settled back into the driver's seat, she was clutching one of his hands for dear life, so to speak. For those few moments, she was silent and seemingly relaxed. He carried her again into his house.

"You need a shower," he told her quietly. She shook her head.

"There's no way I can stand up in the shower…bath?" He nodded and carried her to the bathroom, where he gently removed her clothing. He filled the tub with warm water, lathered the wash cloth, and gently scrubbed the dirt from her body. The entire time, she didn't speak a word. Instead, she sighed with relief.

"How's your pain?" he asked.

"It's…less. When you touch me, it's…it isn't as intense," she answered as he ran the washcloth over her dirty, bloody face.

"It isn't?"

"No…it's not…" She trailed off, her mind whirling a million miles a minute. Transfer of essence, blood, give and take, red blood, essence…

"I've got it."

"You do?" He practically dropped the washcloth upon hearing her words.

"The four humors…Back before modern medicine, there was the theory of the four humors, the four times of blood…Red blood, yellow blood, black blood, and white blood," she explained, her tired voice practically bursting with excitement.

"I was there, I remember."

"White blood was…it was…fluids exchanged during sex," she said, trying to put it delicately, even though he was already following her train of thought.

"Fluid exchange…"

"Your touch eases the pain, just a bit. The closeness eases it, helps with the transfer. You don't get much closer than sex."

"No," he said. "No you don't."


	12. Pain and Pleasure

**A/N: **So, here's the next chapter. I'm sorry it took me so long, but I had some computer issues. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, and thanks so much for all the support. Y'all are lovely! Please review!

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Eric drained the water and gently lifted Valerie out of the tub. She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned against him while he tried to dry her off with a towel. Her trembling made it difficult, but he managed. It didn't actually matter—they were dead, they didn't really feel cold unless it was in the extreme—but it did to him. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed against him with a cry of pain.

"Shh…" The sound slipped past his lips before he even had a chance to think about it. He wasn't sure if it was an instinctual response—generally he found crying to be slightly annoying, unless he was about to eat dinner, in which case it was lovely—or if he was actually trying to comfort her. Before he could think too much about it, he pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind and locked them there.

But she when looked at him with tearful eyes, he felt something akin to pain. There was the guilt that had wracked him earlier, but this was sharper, more raw than what he had felt then. He sat her down on the toilet seat and took a step back. It felt too much like he was forcing it…forcing her. He hadn't ever forced himself on a woman—even in his human, warrioring days—and he wasn't going to start now. He stepped back, taking his hands off her completely.

"You want to do this here?" she asked, confusion in her eyes. He didn't answer, but did take her hand upon hearing the pain in her voice. Her hands were trembling, and try as she might to control them, she couldn't do it. Instead, she was helpless—trembling like a leaf before him. "We can…later, but I'm feeling like a bed might be better suited to…my handicap."

"Bed would be good," Eric said, trying to concentrate on the task at hand. He cradled her against him and carried her to bed, trying to be as gentle as he possibly could. After years of brutality, tenderness was something that had to be tried for, that had to be constantly thought of.

"Just…are you going to bite me?" He could tell that she was trying to sound as normal as possible, but was failing miserably. The self assurance that he was so used to hearing in her voice had been replaced with something that was closer to meekness, something he never would have thought to hear coming out of her mouth. But she was in uncharted waters. She didn't know what was going on—not that he had much more idea than she did—and that was making her unsure of herself.

"No. You should probably bite me, though," he answered, setting her on the bed. She was so tiny, so fragile—despite her vampirism—that he was almost afraid he would break her. Rather than continue their coupling, he lay down beside her, unable to take the next step.

"Eric, I'm not…up to being on top. You're going to have to…" She trailed off, focusing all her energy on pulling his shirt over his head. She was unsuccessful, unable to stop her trembling long enough to grip the shirt. "Can you get your clothes? I can't really…I can't get it…"

He quickly undid each of the buttons and pulled the shirt off his arms. He looked down at her and found that she was smiling wolfishly at him. Much of her face said "come hither," but her eyes were still teary, full of pain. She reached for his hand, and he gave it to her, his large hand swallowing her smaller one. She brought his hand to her lips and kissed it. He lay still propped up on one arm, staring down at her.

"You gonna help me? It takes two to tango." Valerie was trying to keep her voice light, but failed.

"Are you…" He couldn't finish his question. It was ridiculous. She was a willing, consenting adult. He shouldn't have had an qualms about it whatsoever. But he did. "It seems that even after a thousand years of living, I can't crush my conscience."

"Eric, you were trying…to save me—"

"It feels too much like rape. And I may be a lot of things—a demon, a dead thing—but I'm not that kind of…"

"Man?" she finished for him.

"Creature," he corrected.

"Eric, if I weren't willing…I wouldn't have suggested it. Trust me. Sex with you is…not something I would turn down. Now, if we could…get this show on the road—"

"You're doing this to stop your pain, not because you want to," he said, his voice cold. "You're too weak to stand up. If you were human—"

"But I'm not. Now stop. Just help me. Make the pain go away," she said, her eyes pleading with him. "Give me pleasure."

Pain and pleasure. He was incredibly well-versed in both, though not as well-versed as he was with fear. He was used to fear—to seeing it, to causing it, to enjoying it—and recognized it. He could smell it in the air, the adrenaline being released in a victim's blood stream. He could hear the way that fear made the heart rate and breathing increase. But Valerie had none of these, and he wasn't sure if it was because she was unafraid, or if it was because she was dead.

She sluggishly tapped the side of his face. "Stop thinking with this head, and use the other one."

He couldn't help but grin at her efforts. She was trying her damndest to make this comfortable for him. _She _was trying to make it comfortable for _him. _She was in intense pain, pain so intense it made her want to end her life, and she was thinking of his comfort. Well, they did say that to be a shrink you have to be a little crazy…

"That was quite funny. You deserve a reward for your efforts," he said, kissing her neck. He found the exact spot that he knew would make her squirm. He could tell by her reaction—a relieved sigh as opposed to her normal gasp of pleasure—that she was getting respite from the pain, but not pleasure from the experience. He kissed her again, and was rewarded with another sigh. The tension began to drain from her muscles.

"Wait," she said abruptly. He pulled away from her immediately and studied her closely, making sure that everything was as it should be—or as close as possible, anyway. "Can you…just be gentle, okay? I'm not exactly a hundred percent."

In response, he kissed her softly, tenderly even. She no longer needed to breathe, but the kiss left her breathless all the same. The more he continued, the more relaxed she seemed to become. Her hands went from clutching his in a bone crushing grip to tangling in his hair. Her muscles that had once been tense with pain had relaxed, and were now tensing with each tiny kiss. Slowly but surely, her pain was lessening.

He kissed down her body, taking care to touch and caress every bit of her. Her skin was soft—an odd trait in a vampire—and he reveled in the feel of it beneath his lips. She felt especially small in his hands, but he could feel the strength in her muscles. She had a small scar on her thigh—a remnant of an intramural soccer game in college, she had told him—that hadn't faded with her transformation. He nipped at it gently, but without breaking the skin. Her eyelids fluttered as he moved upward, finally reaching her center.

She was trembling again, though more from weakness than pain or pleasure. She seemed to be in a state of neutrality—she was enjoying the experience because it was relief from the pain, not for the reason that most would enjoy it. But she wasn't sobbing anymore, and that was a reason to smile. It was a subtle smile of relief, and when she noticed it, she knew that things wouldn't get worse. They might not get any better, but they weren't going to get worse.

"Eric…please…" She wanted some kind of release—if not for her, than for him.

"Impatient. Later, I'll get the silver handcuffs and teach you patience." The fact that he was playing with her was a good sign, though his expression was asking the question. _Are you sure? _She bit her lip and nodded.

Slowly, gently, he entered her. She wrapped her arms around him, desperate to have him closer, to have more skin to skin contact. As he moved, there was a feeling growing in her belly. It became stronger and stronger—a primal urge that could only be satisfied one way: she sank her fangs into his neck and drank.

His blood tasted different this time—sweeter, less metallic. With each mouthful of his life-giving elixir, his movements became more frantic. He needed this as much as she did, and he was desperate for release. Just as she had had her fill, he cried out his release and collapsed on top of her.

They lay there for a moment, neither of them moving. Their fangs were still out, her mouth still bloody. She wanted to kiss him—not only as a sign of affection, but also as a sign that he was hers. She wanted to mark him as taken; she wanted to possess him. The urge was stronger than her urge to feed had been, and she didn't fight it.

She pushed at his chest, still too weak to get him off of her. He rolled off to the side and draped an arm possessively about her waist. When she kissed him, it wasn't the gentle kiss she had asked for earlier. Instead, it was harsh and primal. She bit down on his lower lip, again drawing blood. From the way he was moaning and pulling her closer, she decided that he didn't much care.

When she released him, he lay there for a moment—his arms around her, their legs a tangled mess—studying her. Just moments before, she had been a meek wallflower, and now she was spilling his blood. She was the only woman to draw blood from him in over a thousand years—the only one other than Godric to do so since he had become a vampire. She had revealed a dominant streak—and in more than a woman-on-top kind of way. That kiss had been possessive.

What frightened him the most was that it didn't bother him.

Valerie had a way of inciting emotions in him that he had thought were long dead. Guilt, fear, tenderness…This wasn't good. He shouldn't be feeling this way. He shouldn't be okay with a kiss that clearly said "you're mine," but he couldn't seem to bring himself to care otherwise. It was all another piece of the Valerie puzzle.

"I'm still weak," she whispered, not sounding entirely satisfied.

"It's almost dawn. That's normal. Pain?"

"Fading fast. And I am, too. Good night—or should I say good morning—lover. I'll see you this evening," she said. Within seconds, she was asleep in his arms.

He was awake well into the daylight hours, pondering the pieces of the Valerie puzzle, and desperately hoping that she would be whole again when she awoke.


	13. Following Orders

**A/N: **So, here is the next chapter, and I hope you enjoy it. A huge thank you to everyone who read/reviewed/favorited/alerted. That makes my day. Please keep it up. Anyway, here is the next chapter for your reading pleasure. Please review!

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A violent shock of pleasure jolted Eric from this death-like slumber. Valerie had propped herself up in bed next to him, and was running her hands over his chest, feeling his cold, hard muscles. Every muscle in his body tensed as she continued her exploration, caressing his body with a strange sense awe written in every line of her face. If she was feeling half of what he was feeling, he could understand why. It was power and pleasure being forced through his veins—not that he would fight it. It was stronger than any feeling he had had since he had been changed.

"Can you feel it, too? It's…" She trailed off, unable to think of an adequate word for what she was feeling. It was strong, overwhelmingly strong; it was unlike anything that she had ever felt when she was alive. But then, now that she wasn't in pain anymore, she noticed that all her senses were heightened. She could hear the crickets chirping outside the window, and cars passing down the road miles away. She smelled the soap that Eric had used to scrub her body. Most of all, she felt the remnants of him on her—in her.

"I've never felt…it's like pure _power _in my veins. Is this how it was for you?" Her voice was filled with awe at the power she was feeling. In her touch, he could feel the power she was talking about—the pure unbridled power. He pulled himself away from her touch, though reluctantly. He couldn't think with her hands on him, and he needed to do so.

"It was very strong, yes," he said.

"And the attraction to your maker?"

"Nothing like this," he answered shortly. She pressed a kiss to his chest, and it was all he could do to stifle a moan of pleasure. She couldn't ignore the shortness of his answer, though the pleasure that shot through her at the touch of skin against skin made it difficult to pay attention.

"Why so short?" she asked, nipping at his neck in an incredibly persuasive manner. He roughly pushed her away, clearly trying to avoid answering the question. Instead of giving in, she asked again, this time wrapping her arms around him. Losing any patience he once had—which was very little to begin with—he pushed her away once more, this time rougher than he had intended. She grabbed him by the hand and held it tight—uncomfortably tight. "Why won't you tell me? You know almost everything there is to know about me, and I know almost nothing about you."

He didn't answer. Instead, he stared stonily at the ceiling—not looking at her, not touching her. He was trying the best he could to avoid anything to do with her, because everything about her made him want to keep her in bed for the rest of their eternal lives and fuck her senseless. Before he could do anything, she slid on top of him, straddling his muscular thighs—trapping them between her own. He bucked against her, trying to free himself. Instead, a blinding flash of pleasure tore through him. Noting his expression, she pressed her nails into his chest, and raked them down his abdomen. He gasped in pleasure, and she grinned wickedly.

"Tell me about your maker," she whispered, nipping at his ear. He felt the beginnings of a gentle pull in his stomach—a compulsion—pushing him to acquiesce to her request.

"Tell me," Valerie said again, licking the blood from his chest. That feeling—that primitive, animalistic urge—grew stronger. He fought it, refusing to tell her about the person that meant more to him than anyone else in this world. But the more he fought, the more he refused to tell her, the more his body pushed him to do so. His lips were itching painfully to be opened, his throat aching to speak. The ache became sharper, stronger as the didn't answer. He bit his lip to keep from speaking, and the pain was bright, white-hot.

"Godric," he gasped. As soon as the name crossed his lips, there was a relief from the pain. "His name was Godric."

She raised an eyebrow in surprise. "A man, huh? I guess you didn't feel like this…did you?"

Under normal circumstances, he would have laughed at the tag to her question. This time, however, he was too confused to do so. He shouldn't have answered her question. He didn't want to answer it; he didn't owe her an explanation. If not for the pain, he wouldn't have spoken.

"Don't ask me about Godric," he ordered. She grinned and thought of another teasing question to ask him. As she tried to ask it, the pain blossomed. Her throat was on fire—or, at least, it felt like it was. Her lips, too. She couldn't seem to get her lips to part, to allow her to draw breath to ask the question. She rolled off of him, trying to distance herself from him in hopes of being able to ask the question. Instead, the more she tried to force the question to cross her lips, the more intense the pain became.

"Fine. No more questions." Relief spread through her body as the pain ebbed away. "Is this what its like when you try to disobey an order from your maker? Is this what it feels like?"

There was a long silence before he finally answered. "No. No, it's not."

"What do you mean?"

"It isn't this strong. Or, it shouldn't be. It should be more of an urge. One that is uncomfortable to disobey, then painful. This just…"

"Gets straight to the pain," she finished for him. "So what's wrong with me?" She tried to keep the panic from rising in her chest. The overwhelming, constant pain was gone, but she was now stuck under Eric's thumb. The pain she felt when disobeying could prove just as crippling as it was before.

"It's not just you." He sounded as shocked and unhappy as she did. "The bond between us is strong. Too strong. Normally the new vampire follows their makers commands because of that compulsion, but it doesn't work the other way. When you told me to tell you about my maker, it was an order, and I had to follow it. I felt that same pain that you did. I had to follow your order just as you had to follow mine."

"So, if I ordered you to get out of the bed and start swing dancing…"

"I would have to do it. But then, if I told you to rub against the bed post like a cat in heat…" There was a mischievous glint in his eye, though she could tell that he was still unhappy about the situation.

"So we either have to agree not to order each other to do things, or we have to separate," Valerie said, starting to think aloud, though it was very difficult to do when he was massaging her hand like he was. She pulled her hand away as she made the realization that she wished she hadn't. "We have to separate. If we don't, Sophie-Anne is going to know that you changed me. There would be consequences—"

"Not for you. Not ones that would matter, anyway," he said, making the same realization.

"But they would fall on you. She may not be as old as you are, but she must have some kind of power over you, or you wouldn't let her rule you."

"She is younger than me…how did you know?" he asked, though there was no confusion in his voice, just resolution.

"It's all in the way that she carries herself. She feels the need to show everyone her power, particularly in your presence, which means that she's insecure. She is putting on a show for everyone else, showing them that she has power of you. So what is it?" Valerie answered in her I'm-a-trained-psychologist voice.

"Politically, she has more allies than I do. It's easier to be a sheriff because you get the money and the cooperation without the hassle."

"But if it came down to a fight…"

"It wouldn't. I like my position as it is—"

"And you'll do what you have to in order to keep it. Well, getting rid of me is the only way that you're going to be able to keep it…and when I say "getting rid of me," I mean it in the "helping me get the fuck out of here" kind of way," she said sharply. Her voice was sharper than she had intended it to be, but she couldn't really help it. She didn't particularly want to leave, and she wasn't particularly happy about the solution—not that she was going to tell Eric that. He didn't need another ego boost.

"I know the way you were talking about," he answered, his voice cold and hard. "The best way for you to get out of here is take the car to the nearest airport."

"People are going to notice when you turn up at Fangtasia without your car. I could just run to an airport, right?" She tried to keep her bitterness out of her voice. She didn't want to lay in bed with him and plan her escape. She wanted him to ask her to stay, to take her in his arms and not let her go. It was overly romantic and completely ridiculous, and entirely the opposite of everything Eric stood for, but it didn't matter. It's what she wanted, and the last thing she was going to get.

"If you ride in the car with me to Fangtasia, you can take it after I've gone inside. Then I can report it stolen when you take off with it. Dump it downtown and get to the airport—"

"If I dump it outside the airport, the people are going to know that I got on a plane. Then it's just a matter of checking out all possible locations. I'm a sitting duck," she argued. "It would be better if I just took a car and drove it until I run out of gas. The police would think of it as a runaway, or a criminal trying to get to Mexico. No one would think that it's a vampire—"

"And what are you going to do during the day?" he snapped.

"My hands are good for more than just—" He gasped as her hands wandered lower, pressing her nails into his hips. "I can dig a hole to sleep in."

"You're happy with sleeping in a hole for the rest of eternity?"

"It solves our problem, and keeps you out of trouble. That's what you want, isn't it?"

He didn't answer. He knew that he should, that she was right. Her solution solved his problem, and got her out of his hair. But he didn't want her to leave, despite the trouble that having her around could—no, would—cause. He would be fined, potentially stripped of his position, and—if Sophie-Anne was feeling creative—she could find some other kind of punishment for him. But he wanted Valerie with him.

"Answer me!" she cried. Immediately, the pain started to overwhelm him. It was worse than anything he had ever felt before in his life. Upon seeing the expression on his face, she said, "No, I take it back. You don't have to answer."

Relief flooded through him as the pain stopped, but uneasiness slipped into his mind. When he had first met Valerie, she would have done anything to live. She would have used and abused whoever she had to in order to survive. She wanted as much knowledge as she could, because it would help her in stay alive, and now, she had just passed up an opportunity to force information from him.

"I don't want you sleeping in a hole in the ground," he answered grudgingly. "It' s not fitting for a child of mine."

"I'm hardly a child. That would be odd, considering the…nature of our association," she said with an ironic grin.

"If you have to go, we'll find a way to do so without you sleeping in the ground. We've got some time," Eric told her. His body was responding to her nearness, and he knew that she was responding to him as well. He could feel the duality in his own reactions. He was reacting to her, but he could feel her reacting to him. He felt her uneasiness, and her want. It wasn't a physical want—though that was present, too. It was something more; something more emotionally based.

"You don't want to leave," he whispered, finally reaching an understanding. She slid back on top of him, a sardonic smile on her face.

"And you don't want me to go. But I have to…though not without one for the road," she answered before kissing him soundly. He pulled her closer, crushing her breasts against his chest. "Maybe two."

"I don't think that either of you will be hitting the road any time soon."

They both froze, staring at each other. Had she been human Valerie's heart would have been pounding in her chest. She could sense Eric's feelings, and was not comforted by them. He was worried—not only for himself, but for her as well—and that wasn't good. He only worried when there was truly something to worry about. After a moment, he pushed her off him, and they turned to see Sophie-Anne standing in the doorway—her entourage behind her—fangs bared and ready for violence.


	14. Not Today

**A/N:** So, thank you guys so, so much for all your feedback. You are wonderful. Here is another chapter, and I hope you enjoy. Please, please, please review! =)

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Valerie froze—if her heart could beat, it would have been pounding, adrenaline coursing through her veins—not daring to move. Beside her, Eric was equally still—though his mind was working faster than the speed of light—his thoughts hidden behind a mask of neutrality. Sophie-Anne stood in the doorway, self-satisfaction oozing from every pore of her undead being. Clearly, she was delighted by what she had found. Behind her, her entourage were grinning, awaiting the violent show that had apparently been promised to them. After a moment, Eric moved to pull the sheet over Valerie, trying to hide her nakedness from view.

"No, Eric," Sophie-Anne said, stepping into the room and pulling the sheet away from Valerie's body. "Let's see the piece of ass that cost you your Area. She is pretty, I'll give you that, but she must be a fine specimen for you to disobey my orders. Tell me, Eric, was it her tits or her ass? Or is she just that good in bed?"

Valerie's only visible reaction was a tightening of her fists, despite the fact that she felt like a bug under a microscope. Her muscles were tense, and she was still as stone—not even daring to blink. It didn't matter, of course—Eric was already ruined, and her own fate was out of her hands—but she was doing everything in her power not to make things any worse than they already were. Of course, every vampire in the room was older, and therefore stronger, than she was—and each one had the potential to tear her apart, so there wasn't really much that she could actually do. So she continued to lay there, still, and allowed herself to be studied—hoping that she didn't break when touched.

Sophie-Anne stepped closer and laid a hand on Valerie's stomach—a cold, well-manicured hand with nails painted an ostentatious shade of red—and ran her nails teasingly across her skin. If it had been Eric running his hands over her, she would have responded—and quite enthusiastically at that—but the very idea of Sophie-Anne touching her was enough to make her skin crawl. But despite her repulsion, she didn't move—determined not to give the crowd of onlookers the satisfaction of a reaction. Impatient for a response, the queen dug her nails into Valerie's breasts and dragged them slowly, torturously across her chest. Blood oozed from the deep cuts; the pain was intense, but not unexpected, so she didn't cry out.

"It seems she's gotten more like you since the last time I saw her. What a pity, she gave us such amusing reactions in our previous meeting. I think I'll just have to continue until I get one," the queen said, her voice full of detached amusement. This time she put both hands against Valerie's rib cage and pushed with all her strength. The cracking sound that filled the room wasn't loud enough to cover the sound of Valerie's cry—and Eric's too.

"You got your reaction. Now get the hell out," Valerie gasped through gritted teeth.

"No, I think there is far more fun to be had here," Sophie-Anne replied, eyeing Eric with extreme curiosity. "She is incredibly entertaining, Eric…but why risk everything for her? That's not the Eric Northman that I know."

"Why do you keep humans around when they bore you?" Valerie spat, trying to draw attention away from Eric.

"Having a pet and losing everything over one are two very different things. I will never lose my queendom over a human—no matter how good the sex is. Was it good, Val?" she asked flippantly.

"Fan-fucking-tastic, Soph," Valerie answered, clearly mocking the queen. Sophie-Anne clearly didn't respond well to being mocked, and wrapped her hand around Valerie's throat, choking out any further insults.

"Clearly, you don't understand the severity of the situation. I could have your head on a platter, literally, if that's what I wanted. So maybe you should stop before you get yourself in any more trouble."

Valerie kept her mouth shut, though more from the fact that she couldn't draw the breath to speak rather than a lack of things to say. If she thought that it would do any good at all, she would have fought back, but that would only bring more trouble for them—mostly for Eric. Eric was going to lose everything that he had worked so hard to get, all because of her. The moment she walked into his bar, she had doomed them both.

Next to her, Eric felt traces of guilt in his stomach—Valerie's guilt. She was feeling guilty for getting them—mostly him—into this mess. But the fact of the matter is, she might have gotten them into the mess, but he had kept them there. She had told him to let her go, and he didn't. He had insisted on keeping her alive, and that is what had kept him—and her—in trouble. It was his actions that were having Valerie scrutinized right now.

He could also feel her humiliation. He was still mostly covered by the sheet—only Valerie was exposed entirely, and if she had been able to blush, she would have been. The way that everyone was studying her, the way that Sophie-Anne was touching her, was humiliating and disgusting. But she kept that off her face, which was good. He wanted to reach out and comfort her, to make up for his actions, but that was only going to cause her more trouble.

"Now," Sophie-Anne said, sitting on the bed between Eric and Valerie, holding them both by the hair. "The time has come—"

"The walrus said, to talk of many things. Of shoes, and ships, and sealing wax—" Valerie was silenced by a firm jerk on her hair.

"As I was saying," the queen continued. "We're going to have to talk about punishment. Eric, you first. You disobeyed me. I ordered you to let her die, and then clean up the mess. And I understand that sometimes the sex is just too good to let it go, but really…this is a matter for the defense of all vampires, and in those instances, I expect you to toe the party line. This will cost you not only your position as sheriff of Area Five, but your fangs as well. I believe I told you once that I thought they would make lovely earrings."

Valerie looked over at Eric, who somehow managed to keep an expressionless face. Maybe it was an art that was mastered after a thousand years, but it wasn't one that Valerie would ever get the hang of. But she felt a sense of…relief coming from Eric. She wasn't entirely sure why. Common sense told her that he wasn't looking forward to the few months it would take for his fangs to grow back in, but she didn't understand why he was relieved. What had he been expecting? After all, he had just lost his source of income, and the position that he had worked tirelessly to maintain for the past few years of his very long life.

"As for you…" Sophie-Anne trailed off, her eyes running over Valerie's body. The look she was giving her was almost worse than her touch. In fact, it was. Her touch was only physically painful, and pain was fleeting. But her gaze, her gaze was demeaning. With that gaze, Valerie was no longer a person—or vampire. With that look, she became an object, something that was studied and possessed. Because that's what Sophie-Anne's expression was saying. It was clearly saying that she wanted to possess Valerie.

"I made you an offer, when you were human. Your blood in exchange for you life."

"I get the distinct impression that my blood is no longer an option," Valerie answered, her voice far more confident than she felt.

"No, it's not. But you still have some things that could be of…use to me," the queen said, again eyeing her wolfishly. Valerie could feel Eric's repulsion in the pit of her stomach—her own, too—and fought to keep the feeling off her face. Apparently, she failed.

"I assume you're not talking about my incredible wit and intellect," Valerie mumbled under her breath.

"As entertaining as that mouth of yours is, I can think of other ways for you to use it," Sophie-Anne responded, her voice thick with barely concealed lust.

"And I know that I would rather be put to death by slow torture first."

As soon as the words crossed her lips, she knew that she had misspoken. Eric's mask of neutrality crumbled, and a look of frustration and concern replaced it. Valerie clamped her mouth tight shut, trying not to think of all the ways that death by slow torture could be arranged. Unfortunately, that was all that Eric could think about. Any sense of relief that he had had was gone.

And it was then that Valerie understood. His sense of relief was not for himself, but rather for her. He had been waiting to hear Sophie-Anne pass down judgment on her, and expecting the worst. The magister, the main voice in vampire law and punishment, was absent, which meant that the sky was the limit for Sophie-Anne. She was free to do what she wished, including destroy Valerie. He had been relieved that that hadn't happened. At least, until now, anyway.

"I do believe that can be arranged. But I'll give you one last chance to consider, because you don't know all the ways that I can make that death by slow torture happen. Eric does, though. Tell her about what I did to the last fledgling that got mouthy with me, Eric," she ordered.

He was still for a long moment, not wanting to explain. Finally, he said, "You had him wrapped in silver chains and hung outside in a tree to wait for daylight."

Valerie shivered, a look of horror on her face. Sophie-Anne smiled and straddled Valerie, her hands roaming suggestively over Valerie's body—parting her thighs and running her hands over them. Valerie tensed and tried to keep from throwing up—if vampires could even do that. She looked to Eric, no longer bothering to hide her desperation. His answer was written all over his face.

He wasn't happy about her options, or the choice he was telling her to make, but he couldn't have her tortured to death because of him. _Take it, _his expression said. _Take her offer and live. _

"No," Valerie whispered. "I can't."

Sophie-Anne's face went still before contorting into an expression of rage. She slapped Valerie across the face, unable to believe that she couldn't get what she wanted. Then, with a sick, twisted smile, she turned to her entourage. "Have one of your humans fetch some silver chains, if you will," she ordered.

Eric closed his eyes, trying to block out the scene before him. Valerie, the woman that he had grown to know—though he still didn't understand her—and respect, was going to die. She was going to be wrapped in silver chains and hung out to meet the sun, despite his pleas with her to save her own life. It was a decision he could understand—he wouldn't want to be the queen's whore for the rest of his existence—but he had wanted so bad for her to live. There was always a chance in the long run that they could somehow turn the situation around, but they couldn't do that if she were dead.

He tried to imagine his existence without her—without their verbal sparring, without their actual sparring, without her behind the bar, without her sarcasm, without her analyzing everyone who came into the club. He had gotten along for years without it, without her, but somehow, it was hard to imagine the next thousand years without her entertaining him.

A glance over at Valerie told him that she wasn't ready to meet the sun. Her eyes were wide with fear, but he didn't see the resolve in them that he had seen earlier. She wasn't resolving herself to death as she had in her earlier situation. Instead, he saw a spark of fight in her eyes. With a grin, he nodded, giving her his unspoken support. She grinned wickedly, and grabbed Sophie-Anne. In one smooth motion, Valerie took the queen by the throat and threw her across the room.

For a moment, everyone froze in shock at the scene before them. She had dared to stand up to the queen of Louisiana. Then, all hell broke loose. Some vampires fled the scene. Others rushed to the aid of their queen. Eric sprang off the bed and began taking members of Sophie-Anne's entourage as they came through the door. He snapped off a piece of the bed railing to use as a weapon. Valerie did the same. The fighting was chaotic with blood flying everywhere. Valerie didn't dare look over at Eric for fear of what she might see. She was amazed to find that she was holding her own with Sophie-Anne, matching her blow for blow in strength and speed. Finally, in one deft move, Valerie pinned her to the wall, stake over her heart. Everyone froze.

"How does that feel?" Valerie asked. "How does it feel to be helpless for the first time in…well, awhile for you? It's pretty unpleasant, actually." Sophie-Anne continued to struggle, only to have Valerie stop her efforts easily. "Let me tell you how things are going to be. eric is going to continue to be sheriff of Area Five, unless he wants something more. And I know that you're going to leave us the hell alone. If you so much as think of stopping by for a visit, I'll tear your throat out and paint the walls with your blood." Sophie-Anne's eyes widened as the full meaning of Valerie's words hit her.

Valerie smiled and continued. "See, you thought that you'd killed me. But instead, you gave me a gift. My connection with my maker is stronger than anyone else's in this room, and probably in this world. And lucky for me, my maker is considerably stronger than any of you. And hey, look at that, so am I. So, I don't think I'm going to let you kill me today. Or tomorrow. Or any day."


	15. Confessions

"I am Sophie-Anne Leclerq, queen of Louisiana. I can do whatever the hell I want!"

"Well, Sophie-Anne Leclerq of Louisiana, I'm holding a stake over your heart, which means that you'll do whatever the fuck I tell you to. Now, when I let you go, you're going to creep back to your hideout in New Orleans and stay there. You can rule your queendom from there, as long as you leave us alone."

" And don't even think about calling in Magister. I don't think he would be particularly pleased to find out that you were going to off Valerie here just because you don't like her," Eric said calmly, starting down the queen

"You disobeyed my order by doing so. The Magister won't be sympathetic."

"Sophie-Anne, you've pushed your luck with the vampire community. You're outrageous, and you tried to kill the King of Arkansas last year. I assure you, the Magister is going to side with us. And you know that price of killing one of our own."

"I didn't kill her—"

"Which makes you even worse. You can't even execute a plan properly. So not only do you try to kill your own kind, you're incompetent," Valerie snapped. "Face it, you're in a lose-lose situation. We're being merciful, which is crying shame because I don't think you really deserve it, and giving you an out. Now be gracious, and take it."

Sophie-Anne grinned. "You don't want to be king. You don't want the responsibilities that come with it. That's the real reason you're letting me off."

"I think that you had better keep in mind that power is a very convenient thing to have, and that I can take yours if I want it. So, be a good kitten and we'll see how long you last," Valerie said with a smile, jabbing the stake into Sophie-Anne's stomach. It was the perfect wound—not fatal, but enough to hurt like hell. Valerie let her fall to the ground. "Now get the hell out."

Sophie-Anne's entourage scrambled to pull their fallen monarch off the floor and get her out. Amazement and terror were written all over their faces; clearly, they had never seen anything quite like this before in their incredibly long lives. Within a minute and a half, they had all cleared bout, leaving a trail of blood behind them.

As soon as they were gone, Valerie collapsed onto the bed, boneless. It was as if her newly superhuman muscles had turn to jelly. Her body may no longer have gone through the biological processes of secreting adrenaline, but she was still young. She still felt things because she was used to feeling things, and her mind was telling her that it was time to be exhausted. She didn't try to hide her tiredness, but instead basked in the feeling of the mattress beneath her.

"Is it over?" she asked Eric, her voice barely a whisper.

"You're a vampire. Nothing is ever over," he answered, sitting down beside her. "But Sophie-Anne? She likes her position and the prestige too much to give us trouble."

"That's what I figured. As long as she's queen, she gets her glory and her lifestyle and we get to live. I like this plan. Mostly, anyway. Part of me still wants to chase her down and pull her spine out through her ass."

"How…creative," Eric said with a small grin, laying down beside her. They were silent for a long time, neither of them daring to move or speak. It was as if they were afraid that if they did move, the nightmare would come flooding back in on them. Valerie was exhausted—a bone-deep exhaustion that she had never experienced when she was human. Then, part of being a vampire was experiencing the world in greater detail—not only the ups, but the downs as well. It made her exhaustion that much deeper.

"I've never been this exhausted before." She nestled her head into his chest. "You know, it's a shame I can't drink bourbon anymore. I'm going to miss the stuff."

He chuckled. "You had more than enough in your lifetime."

"That's good shit, okay? Don't knock it." She tried to sound indignant, but was just too tired to do so. "Besides, it was my sole comfort in the world."

"I recall a certain amount of comforting."

"No, that was us trying to fuck away our feelings. You know, the ones you don't want to talk about. The ones that you would rather be in agony over than tell me about. Those feelings." He remained silent, his eyes closed. "I could always demand that you answer me…"

"And I can always order you not to ask."

"But you won't," she said assuredly, if not tiredly.

He arched an eyebrow, not in surprise, but in invitation, waiting to see what she was going to say. Every time she spoke, he was caught off guard by what she said to him. Each word was a welcome surprise, making him wonder how her unique mind worked. But he wouldn't voice his excitement at her words or his amusement. So when he didn't answer—not an unusual occurrence—she continued.

"Because for whatever reason, no matter how much trouble I cause, you like that I say what I think. You find it amusing, and every time I talk, you're a step closer to being able to figure me out. And that's what this is about. It's about you wanting to figure me out."

Again, he lay there silently, staring at the ceiling. His silence was all the answer she needed.

"And for some strange, fucked-up reason, I let it go on. I know that you don't love me back, and I still go along with you, just because it means that I get to stay a little bit longer. You would think that being a psychologist, I would know that this is unhealthy. I do know that this is unhealthy, but for whatever reason, my now cold, dead heart doesn't know this. And so I'm still here, for your viewing pleasure."

He could tell she was tired. No one would ever make that sort of confession if they weren't drunk or practically dead on their feet—so to speak. And though the good doctor had a rather loose tongue for some things, she wasn't exactly the type to spill all the details of her feelings. Her exhaustion was affecting her judgment, and at this point, she was beyond caring. When she woke later, he was sure that she would hate that she had told him out her feelings for him—a confession that he couldn't say he was entirely unhappy to hear.

"I shouldn't be this tired, and I shouldn't be telling you this."

"No, you shouldn't," he answered quietly. "You're tired. You should rest."

"I've been resting all day. I'm just…emotionally exhausted. You'll forgive me if I just…sleep now."

He tightened his arm around her, reveling in the feel of her naked body against him. He hadn't quite expected the protective instinct that had kicked in when Sophie-Anne had exposed her to the whole of the room. Seeing her laid out for everyone to examine, like she was a piece of meat on the slab, had not sat well with him. She nestled against him, and he loved it.

"Eric…will you just hold me?" she whispered, her eyes closed. He kissed her temple lightly.

"Yeah."

"And you'll be here when I wake up?" Ton anyone else, it would have been a question, but for her, it wasn't. She knew as sure as she knew that the sun would rise that he would be there when she woke up in the evening. His curiosity about her was much too strong for him to leave her while she slept. This time, his silence was comforting—he didn't need to respond because his answer was common sense.

He had grown used to her breathing as she lay beside him. He was used to her warmth and her heart beat. It felt odd to have her with him and not feel those things. But at least she was still there. A heartbeat, breathing, warm skin—those were things that he could live—so to speak—without. But he had realized something while watching Sophie-Anne toy with her. He had felt a sense of possessiveness about her—if she had been human, he would have called her his. He didn't want anyone else having his Valerie. He wanted her to be with him, and him alone.

Ties of this sort were something that he had avoided for years—Godric being the exception. Romantic ties were liabilities, as Bill Compton and Sookie Stackhouse had shown him so well. She was a weakness—and now a very public weakness—that could be exploited in the future. But then, he had an oddly comforting suspicion that she wasn't going to let herself be used against him. The bond between them was something new, but he could feel the remnants of her thoughts, and was surprised by the protective streak she had towards him. He had also been surprised at the bitterness she felt towards herself for allowing herself to fall for him. But what surprised him the most was the way that he didn't want her to feel bitter about loving him. That wasn't what he wanted at all.

"You just sleep now. After all, we've got forever."

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**Author's Note: **So, there's another chapter, and I hope you liked it. This story is beginning to come to a close, and your feedback has been fabulous. Please keep it up! Thanks so much for the support. Please review!


	16. I Think We Have a Deal

When Valerie stirred the next evening, Eric was still asleep. She didn't want to move; she liked the feeling of his body next to hers. She liked the way that he made her feel safe—not that she wasn't capable of taking care of herself, apparently. She shouldn't stay—she didn't really want to—but she wasn't ready to leave yet, either.

He only wanted her around because she was entertaining—the newest puzzle for him to figure out. When he couldn't neatly categorize her, he would get frustrated and then bored, which would be made even worse by the fact that she would be able to feel his boredom. She couldn't stay to feel that, to be the girl who outstayed her welcome—not that she had ever been truly welcome in the first place. But he was older than she was by far, and he knew his way around vampire politics. There were lessons to be learned from him, experience to be gained, and she needed all the experience she could get. She would gather as much information about how to live this life as she could before he got bored with her.

Eric's arm was draped across her waist possessively. She closed her eyes and thought about trying to force herself back to sleep, but apparently that was impossible now. Instead, she just lay still in his embrace and reveled in the feel of it. She wanted to get up, to walk away, to free herself from this ridiculous attachment to Eric Northman, but she wouldn't. She sighed—something now unnatural to her—as she tried to imagine her future. She had never imagined herself spending her life with someone—she had always imagined life in an old Victorian house filled with books and the occasional lover—but now she wasn't sure exactly what she was going to do with herself.

Making up her mind wasn't getting any easier while she was laying there with Eric. Everywhere that their skin was touching tingled with electricity. She wondered if it was going to be like this for the rest of her life. Would she always feel this pull to touch him, the overwhelming compulsion to touch him? She knew that it was similar for him—she could feel the echo of his feelings in her mind—and it wasn't making it any easier for her to make up her mind.

She pulled herself from his arms and walked across the room, trying not to wake Eric. She slipped into the shower and began to scrub away at her skin. She didn't feel temperatures anymore, not unless they were extremes, and it was interesting to stand under the scalding hot shower while steam filled the bathroom. She took a deep breath and scrubbed away with soap, not caring that her skin was turning bright red and she was scrubbing hard enough to draw blood. What mattered was that she got the feel of the entire encounter with Sophie-Anne off her skin—and the feel of Eric. Of course, what did it matter as long as he was so present in her mind?

"You're stronger than this, Valerie. Pull your shit together, make a plan, and follow through on it. You're acting like a tweenager who doesn't know what to do with herself. You are a strong, independent woman. You need to go. Now, shower, get your stuff, go back to your apartment and go from there," she told herself quietly.

"Not a bad plan, but it isn't what you want," Eric said from behind her. She grinned. Before her transformation, he would have scared the hell out of her, but now she knew exactly where he was.

"You know, we've really got to stop having moments like this in the shower," she answered flippantly, trying not to reveal just how much she wanted to stay.

"Our best moments have been in the shower." His voice was completely serious, his face completely deadpan, but she could feel the humor. The tiniest hint of a smirk was pushing to come out, but he was keeping it in check.

"Me crying and you bathing me have been our best moments? That's a comforting thought," she remarked, still trying to keep the seriousness out of her voice. God, it was hard to keep her hands off him, especially considering that he was naked in all of his god-like glory in the steamy shower with her. It was the stuff that pornos were made of. Well, she assumed so anyway.

She quickly rinsed and stepped out of the shower, Eric closely behind her. She dried herself off and dressed in the closest thing she could find—a pair of skinny jeans and one of Eric's oversized button-downs. She didn't care that it wasn't really her style or that she had been trying to avoid wearing Eric's clothes, because at least she was dressed, which was a hell of a lot easier than being naked in front of him.

"I need to go," she said quietly. He just stood in the doorway, a towel around his waist, studying her intently. "I need to get everything straightened out. There is paperwork to do about my change, and I'll have to register with the Bureau of Vampire Affairs. Hell, I haven't paid the rent on my apartment since I was changed—"

"Your rent has been paid," he told her, stopping her in mid-rant.

"I need time to adjust to this whole vampire thing. I need to figure out where exactly I fit in this whole grand scheme of things now that I'm not marked for death and all that. I need to find another job…I wonder if there are vampire psychologists…"

Eric just stood there and let her rant and think aloud. Of course, he knew all of her concerns—becoming a vampire nowadays was considerably more complicated than it had been when he had been changed. He knew that she wanted some semblance of independence so that she could find her niche in this new world that she had been forced into. He knew that when he was around, she couldn't think clearly because of the echoes he left in her head. It didn't really help things that he didn't want to keep his hands off her.

"I'm going to just take my stuff and go," she whispered. The reluctance was clear in everything about her—her voice, her expression, the way that she was leaning against the bed post and clinging to it for dear life—but she held firm to her conviction. "I'll be around. I mean, I've got a lot to learn and you seem like you know what's going on. I mean, assuming that you don't mind me being around. But I don't think you do. You didn't seem to mind these past few weeks, so…I'm just going to go now."

As she walked past him towards the door, she felt a pull deep in the pit of her stomach, and it was more than just her reluctance to leave. It was his unwillingness to let her go. He wanted her to stay. To satisfy his curiosity, no doubt. Just as she opened the door, she heard his voice behind her.

"When you decide that you need a drink…it's on me," he called, smirking. She grinned back.

"You can guaran-damn-tee that I'll hold you to that."

He watched her walk away, and let her. On one hand, he knew that it was a strategically sound move; she was a weakness—not only because he had affection for her, but also because she had the power to control him. If she were farther away, that affection was not obvious to those who would use her against him, and she also couldn't give him any orders that he would be forced to follow. But he also knew that he was going to be bored out of his mind tonight. Pam was entertaining, sure, but not in the same way that Valerie had been. But he had to let her go.

The night was slow, just as he had predicted. So was the night after, and the one after that, and the one after that. It all became one big blur of men and women begging to touch him, to take his picture, to sit with him, to buy him a drink. Night after night, tourists came in and prided themselves on being brave enough to be there. Fangbangers came in with their ridiculous leather pants that made them sweat copious amounts and smell like salt and perspiration.

After everyone left, he sat in his office looking over the books—business was still thriving—and looking over newspapers. He had done so before Valerie—it always paid off to be up-to-date on current events, especially given the political climate—but now he looked for mentions of psychologists and vampire research. When he ordered liquor, he made sure to order Booker's—not that they could drink it. He had Pam take care of the couch in his office; the blood was a constant reminder that he didn't like to have around.

There were still little things that reminded him of her, though. There were still clothes for her in the bottom drawer of his dresser—he hadn't touched them after she left. Every time he looked at his desk, he fought the memories of what had happened there, and then he fought the raging hard-on that came with those memories. When he glanced at the chair next to his throne, he still half-expected to see her there. But she never was.

He knew that she was alright—he still had that faint connection that would have told him if anything were seriously wrong. He could still occasionally feel her annoyance—that one was the most common, simply because people were so stupid—or her frustration. Every now and again, there was sadness or pain. Once or twice, he thought he felt happiness and wondered what the hell had caused it. Tonight, he felt frustration. Frustration and desperation.

Dr. Valerie Malone had one rule about drinking: drink when you want to, not when you need to. But then, if she had learned nothing else in life, it was that rules were made to be broken. With a loud squealing of tires, she pulled into the parking lot of the closest bar, cut through the line at the door and walked straight inside to the bar.

"AB negative in a glass please, laced with Booker's," she told the bartender. He grinned at her, knowing that she was going to regret that come morning. She knew it, too, but didn't seem to care. When he set the glass in front of her, she grinned and drank it down in two swallows.

Expression complete with a devil may care expression, she stood and made her way towards the front of the room. Before she was two steps away from the bar, she felt someone grab her ass. Without a second thought, she turned around, grabbed them by the throat and slammed them into the bar. It was another vampire—he looked faintly familiar.

"My ass isn't public property," she snapped. "You'll need to at least buy me drink first, asshole." Her victim grabbed her wrist and twisted it, hard, and she heard the bone snap. Looking over, she grabbed a bottle off the top of the bar. "Can I borrow this? Thanks."

Before she could slam the bottle into the side of her attacker's head, a cold hand gripped her wrist, stopping her. She gasped as electricity flowed through her at his touch and she turned to face him. He still looked amazing—and she would expect nothing less from Eric Northman. But what she noticed more than how delectable he looked was that he was actually happy—she could feel it.

"You made a big mess in my bar and spilled vampire blood? What are we going to do about this?" he asked playfully.

She shrugged. "Get some bleach and clean it up?" she suggested with a grin.

"Well aren't you funny. What's your name?"

"Dr. Valerie Malone. And I'm looking for the guy that I met here once. He said that if I ever wanted a drink, it was on him. Do you know where I can find him?"

"I might…for a price. Come into my office and we'll discuss it." She followed him into his office, taking note of the new couch against the wall. Other than that, it was exactly the same as the last time she saw it.

"So, what's your price?" she asked as he closed the door.

"I think you know."

"I think you're right. See, I've got another favor to ask of this gentleman. My lease is up on my apartment, and I think that I need someplace else to live. It's not really my style anymore. I think he can help me with my problem."

"You think so? I think you're probably right," Eric answered, letting a grin spread across his face. Valerie stepped closer, wrapping her arms around him. He still wanted her to stay, and she knew it. She knew it and he knew. "He's been horribly bored without you."

"Is that so? Well, I think that I could stick around, make things interesting. Assuming that forever is okay with you."

"Forever?" he said with a genuine smile. "I think we have a deal."

* * *

**Author's note: **I am so, so sorry about the delay on this. Other fandoms came knocking and school got insane. But anyway, here is the final installment. Thanks so much for everyone who read and reviewed and alerted and favorited. The support has been fantastic. I'm going to try to start another Eric/OC story shortly, a sequel to my other story, "Still Surprised," so keep an eye out. But thanks for the support and I hope you enjoyed!!!


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